


shared kingdom

by JulieMalfoy



Series: Eternal Love [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 40,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulieMalfoy/pseuds/JulieMalfoy
Summary: After his failed attempt of convincing Thranduil to fight the last remaining orcs in Middle-Earth, Elrond gets abducted by orcs who capture and torture him. Thranduil has to prove that he is more than just a King who avoids all war, and on his quest of saving the Half-Elven, discovers that there is more to their relationship than initially expected.[Thranduil and Elrond are gay for each other in this one.][Takes place after the war of the one ring.][Finished.]
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Thranduil, Legolas Greenleaf & Thranduil
Series: Eternal Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103063
Comments: 60
Kudos: 103





	1. Prologue

Birds were sitting high up in the trees, singing, answering each other. The leaves shone brightly in the gleaming sunlight, fiery red and orange. Way down below, a furious Elf was making his path to the palace of the King of Mirkwood. His expression was grim and it was clear that he wanted to be anywhere but here. Despite his anger, his feet didn’t conjure a sound when they touched the ground, his movements were as light as a feather, yet full of strength. A long way lay between him and his home. Indeed, the Lord of Rivendell had been travelling for days, partly on foot, partly on his horse which now followed him obediently without needing any commands.

A few months had gone by since the ending of the war and since the One Ring had been destroyed, but orcs were still roaming Middle-Earth and they had to be taken care of. Every folk had participated in this hunt, except the hobbits of course, for they were a peaceful folk and Frodo and his companions had been on the biggest adventures, the memories of which they thought would stay with them forever. However, one Kingdom hadn’t responded to the call for the hunt, ruled by an Elf who had helped in the Battle of the Five Armies, fought against orcs attacking his realm and whose son had helped destroy the One Ring. Thranduil, son of Orother, King of Mirkwood.

Elrond had come to reason with him, and he knew that it wouldn’t be an easy task, for the King was very stubborn, so it was told. Secretly, Elrond had hoped that Legolas would reason with his father, but, as it seemed, he wouldn’t even listen to his own son, who went out to fight almost every day. How different two elves could be, although the same blood ran through their veins.

As soon as Elrond arrived at the gate, one of the guards immediately led his horse to the stables, so it could rest there. The other one greeted Elrond.

“Mae govannen, Elrond.” He spoke in a soft voice, although his eyes looked concerned. “The King awaits you.”

He definitely seemed concerned now, and the Half-Elven couldn’t help but worry about what he would encounter once he stepped into the halls of the King.

The vastness and beauty of the Mirkwood realm always amazed him — the architecture, the structure, the lights, everything harmonized so well together and a small paradise had been made. It was a wonderful place, but Elrond already missed the river in Imladris. The path meandered its way up along the trees and for a split second, Elrond forgot why he was here and he enjoyed his stay. Then, out of the shadows, someone stepped in front of him, somebody he hadn’t noticed before.

“Legolas!” Elrond smiled. He hadn’t seen the Elf for a long time, and he was glad to meet him.

“My lord Elrond,” the Elf smiled. “I must apologize for the circumstances of your visit, yet I hope that you enjoy your stay. After your meeting with my father, we will show you to your chamber, so you can rest. You might stay as long as you want.”

Elrond looked at him appreciatively.

“We may just hope that the meeting goes well.”

“I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s already angry that I kill orcs in the company of a dwarf.”

“He doesn’t want you to fight?”

“Not really, no. But I do what my heart tells me. And I know that my father’s heart is in the right place. You must succeed, for there are too many orcs in our woods and too few elves who are willing to disobey my father’s command.”

Elrond looked at the seemingly very young Elf, but he knew better. Legolas was old, very old, although his body didn’t show it. But his mind did. His experience. If he trusted Elrond to change Thranduil’s mind, then he must be right.

As soon as he entered the throne hall, the air seemed to turn cold and icy. Nothing of the earlier warm welcome was present here, but it was replaced with an odd feeling that seemed to radiate from both elves.

King Thranduil was sitting on his gigantic throne, looking down at his visitor, who bowed and was forced to look up, as it didn’t seem that he was getting off his throne anytime soon.  
Thranduil himself wasn’t pleased, he had other business to attend to, he just wanted to get this done. Preferably quick, for he was in no mood for arguments over his rule being righteous or not.

“Welcome, Elrond, Lord of Imladris. What a pleasure.” He sounded snobby, and the sound of his voice disgusted Elrond.

“My lord,” he began to speak, “I assume you have already figured the means of my visit, and I’m assuring you, I come as a friend. But as friends, we must act together upon the madness that still haunts our world. Orcs are still free, they still slaughter our people, and we must put an end to this. But for this to succeed, there is someone else we need. You. We need you and your people, send out your elves, your soldiers, so we can finally be free of Sauron and his army. Sauron may be destroyed, but there are still armies of orcs left. We need your help, my lord. It would be an honourable thing to do.”

He was done. He had put all his willpower in those words and he hoped it was enough. At least it seemed to have got Thranduil thinking because the King was sitting silently on his throne, a frown upon his face. When he finally looked up, the coldness in his eyes had returned, even stronger than before.

“I will not risk the life of my men for such senseless slaughter, while others are already taking care of a problem that I am no part of. Is it not enough that my son willingly risks his life against my command? No, Master Elrond, I have no say in this, as everyone stopped listening to me years ago. Now, if you would kindly leave.”

“No. Not yet. Middle-Earth is in danger and you will just sit here and do nothing? People are dying, my lord. Elves, men, dwarves, and you will do nothing about it?”

“One dwarf more or less is of no interest to me.”

“But to your son! And I’m not only talking about dwarves, my lord. What about women and children? Many have lost their lives due to the endless slaughter that the orcs bring to our world.”

“Why should I start a fight that is not my own? Tell me, Elrond, why would I risk the lives of my men for a cause that is not my own?”

“Because you’re part of this world, aren’t you?”

He thought he had won him over, for a split second, he dared to hope, but this hope was shattered.

“Leave now. I will not repeat myself again.”

Elrond knew he had lost, so he bowed one last time, then turned on his heels and left the hall, not noticing Thranduil’s eyes following his every movement, not noticing the tiredness that was clearly visible on the King’s face.

As soon as Elrond had left, Legolas walked up to him, not dressed as a warrior anymore, but as a prince. His white cloak shimmered silver in the light and he looked very much like his father, but his eyes were full of warmth, but that was the only detail that made him different from his father.

“What did he say?” he asked, the hope in his voice not hidden from the outside world. But he must have sensed it, must have seen it on the Half-Elven’s face that his talk with the King had not been successful.

“It’s frustrating,” Legolas claimed. “I’ve been trying to change his mind for days, but he won’t listen. I should have known that it was impossible. But thank you for trying, at least.”

He managed a smile, clearly disappointed of his father. It occurred to Elrond that maybe this prince had always looked up to his father, that he’d always seen him as a hero, but he had learned otherwise. And there was something else to this disappointment. Sadness. And Elrond couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, and he swore to himself that he would change Thranduil’s mind and make him a better King. If not for the sake of Middle—Earth, then for the sake of his son.

Although the meeting had not gone as intended, Elrond planned on staying a bit. He was exhausted after travelling, and the meeting had cost him the last bit of his energy. He needed to get out of that palace for a moment, he needed to connect with nature, he needed a moment for himself. After Legolas had gone off, Elrond got out of the front door and walked through the woods. It was peaceful, and with every breath, he calmed down a little. Inside, he had not realized that he was shaking. But now, he noticed his trembling hands by his side. He sat down with his back to a tree and closed his eyes. The meeting couldn’t have gone any worse. His whole journey had been in vain, he should have known that Thranduil wouldn’t listen to him. At least he had tried.

Suddenly, all his senses were on high alert. Despite his excellent sight, he couldn’t make out anything. He could hear faint footsteps in the distance. Every muscle tensed. It was the feeling he always got before a battle. Something was coming. And what was that terrible smell? Instinctively, he grabbed his sword and unsheathed it, only for it to collide with a strange blade. Its bearer let out a terrible howl and from everywhere around, other orcs answered. They came from everywhere. He was surrounded.

Meanwhile, in Thranduil’s throne room, the King paced up and down, restless. Elrond’s words haunted him. _Because you’re part of this world, aren’t you?_ Of course, he was. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he had to join every battle that was going on. Nonetheless, he was nervous and felt guilty for having rejected the Half-Elven so harshly. Even as he had done so, he had felt guilty. After all, it was his fight, he was just too proud to admit it. But there was something else he was proud of: he didn’t show it nearly enough, but Legolas proved himself a true prince and a true heir to the throne. But he also didn’t want to risk his people. The number of orcs would eventually diminish, without his interference, thus no need for fighting. But was that the right approach? Doubts filled him until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He would see Elrond again, this evening. He called in one of his guards. “Go look for Lord Elrond. Tell him to immediately meet me here. I will await and welcome him, provide him with wine and food. Now go.” His guard quickly bowed before he left the hall. Satisfied, he sat down on his throne and waited. But Elrond didn’t come. Instead, his guards entered the room with the most unpleasant news. Elrond was gone. Nobody knew where he had gone. Apparently, he had wanted to go on a stroll in the woods and he hadn’t returned since. A small part of him asked, so what? What does it matter? But the other part felt responsible for he had disappeared in his Kingdom. He had to look for him. And he would.


	2. Disappearance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond has disappeared, but where to?

How long had it been that darkness overwhelmed him and all his senses and how long ago did he begin to float, completely weightless? Elrond could barely open his eyes, his eyelids were as heavy as if they weighed a ton. But as he finally opened them, all he could see was nothing. He couldn’t even tell if it was night or day, for the darkness now was even worse than it was with eyes closed. Only then did he notice that he wasn’t floating, not exactly, but he was being carried. 

The smell of the orcs filled the air which made the Half-Elven gag. He felt sick but managed to regain composure. He was not going to show any signs of weakness, as he was sure that, if he did, the orcs would only use it to their advantage which he could not let happen.

Suddenly, he was thrown to the ground, where his head was knocked against the cold stone floor. He grunted. His shoulders were aching from being carried so carelessly, and his head was throbbing.  
“Hear that, Sozlo,” one of the orcs said. Even its sneer was audible — how it managed that, Elrond had no idea. “Poor Elfie’s in pain!”

Laughter erupted from all around Elrond and the sound’s echo remained long after they had gone quiet again. They kicked him against his ribs and the Half-Elven let out a whimper, but that only increased the orcs’ fun and they continued to kick him while he was lying there, completely defenseless.

He barely noticed when the kicking stopped, for the throbbing pain in his body remained. His hands were freed but he couldn’t move. Not long afterwards, a door banged shut and Elrond was alone in a cave where even he couldn’t see much. Due to his elvish senses, he was able to make out a few things: first of all, there was only one door and obviously no window. Second of all, he was the only living presence in the room. He made a note to himself to ignore the skeleton in one of the corners of the cave. A human wouldn’t have been able to see anything except darkness. 

Elrond closed his eyes and opened them again, trying to regain composure and stop his body from shaking. Never, in his long life, had he been captured. He desperately tried to recall how he had gotten himself in this situation. 

_He was surrounded by orcs. Naturally, his hand immediately grabbed for his sword and held it out in front of him. But the orcs weren’t attacking. At least, not yet. They only watched them, their eyes reflecting hunger and bloodlust. Usually, they would have gone for the kill already, but these goblins confused him. Suddenly, one of them stepped forward and grinned at him._

_It was a mischievous sneer and Elrond stared at him the way he always did when he was in battle. Then the orc nodded and all of a sudden, they all lunged at him and Elrond stabbed one in the thigh which only enraged him more. One of them tackled him to the ground and stepped on his wrist which cracked under the pressure — the incredible force of his enemy surprised him and he had no time to react. His right hand was useless now, the sword still in its loosening grip._

_Meanwhile, more orcs were on top of him but Elrond got hold of his dagger and stabbed one of them in the neck. The creature screamed and spit blood, and when the blade was withdrawn from his throat, blood spilled everywhere and he fell, gasping for air, until he lay still, his body limp. The other orcs screamed and attacked Elrond more ferociously and the Half-Elven knew that he had no chance. He was hopelessly outnumbered. He struggled against his enemies but they were simply too strong. The last thing he remembered was a heavy blow on his head, and then darkness, and then nothing._

His head was aching and even though he could not see much, the room was spinning nonetheless. The cold, naked stone made him shudder and his whole body was aching. He couldn’t even point out all the places that had been bruised, there were simply too many. How could he not have foreseen something like this? It frustrated him that sometimes, his sight would hide the nearest future from him. If he had seen this happening, he could have prevented it from happening. 

But something was lying on the ground, some kind of package. Elrond got up and nearly knocked himself out when he bumped his head against the ceiling, which was extremely low. A dwarf would have had enough space, but an Elf? He kneeled down at the spot where the package lay and the Half-Elven gagged when he saw and smelled what was in it. Mouldy cheese. Who knew how long it had been lying there already? Disgusted, Elrond closed the package and distanced himself from it, trying to forget the sight of the rotten food. 

When he heard footsteps outside, he quickly crawled over to a corner and sat down there, facing the door, prepared for whatever creature might enter and threaten him. After all, he could not know what the orcs had in store for him, as this was very unusual behaviour. They never captured their prey. They only killed. When the door flew open, he flinched and stared up at two orcs with their weapons drawn.

Thranduil restlessly paced up and down while giving Legolas orders. His son, however, wouldn’t listen.  
“Father! Let me go with you! It’s dangerous, going on a quest all on your own.” He sounded desperate, but Thranduil had made his decision.

If people thought of him as a coward, then he would prove them wrong. He would interfere and help Elrond. He would show the world that he was capable of fighting and defending his Kingdom, even without help. 

“Legolas, I need you to stay here and guard the Kingdom! You’re my only son, you’re the only one who can do so. Defend the Kingdom, hunt the orcs, but do not follow me. This is a quest I must do on my own, and I trust you not to disobey. Make me proud, son.”

Legolas nodded, then left his father alone again. Yes, he would look for Elrond, but only to prove his worth and righteousness and courage. But he mainly did this to prove him wrong, to prove Elrond that he wasn’t the Elf he thought he was. He would find Elrond, no matter what. 

Part of him wondered where that determination came from. He didn’t even like Elrond, he hadn’t appreciated his visit in Mirkwood at all, yet he was determined to find him and bring him to safety. Maybe he had only left everything behind here to return to Rivendell, maybe he was that eager to leave. But Thranduil knew that something was wrong. He felt it. 

Dawn had already come when Thranduil had found the end of Elrond’s footprints. Lucky for him, the full moon was illuminating the sky and the forest, the leaves seemed to glow silver and golden all at once. 

It was quiet, and the only sound was Thranduil’s steady breath. He moved around, careful not to create any noise, and he cautiously looked for any hint of Elrond’s disappearance. Surely, the Half-Elven would have made his departure clear, assuring Thranduil that he was leaving instead of accepting their hospitality. No, it wasn’t Elrond’s way of leaving arguments behind. Something had happened to him, Thranduil was sure of it. 

That’s when he saw it. It would have been invisible to any human (except maybe for men like Aragorn, who was excellent at tracking), for its size was very little, but Thranduil spotted it and picked it up, touching the soft fibre with his fingertips. 

He instantly recognized the work — it was elvish craftsmanship, but none that was used in Mirkwood. It must have belonged to Elrond before it had got ripped off. Before...someone had taken him. Surely, the Half-Elven wouldn’t have vanished without a trace. Someone must have ambushed him — there was no time to lose. 

Thranduil had to hurry, but he was all alone and he dared not go back to gather some of his best warriors, for it might be too late when they found Elrond. He was alone, and he would remain alone, no one would come to his aid. But he would find Elrond — to save the Half-Elven’s life, but foremost, to save and preserve his honour amongst his people. Even if it resulted in his own death.

A sudden movement and noise made it clear that he wasn’t alone. This could be no ambush, for the footsteps were too heavy for someone willing to overwhelm him by surprise. No, this was no attack, but the horrid smell indicated that it was no friend who came to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading thus far! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. See you Monday!


	3. Wicked Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond finds out why.

Exhausted, Elrond tried to get up, when a sharp pain engulfed him — he grabbed his head with both heads and massaged his temples, trying to ease the pain that struck him like lightning bolts. He couldn’t see clear, as white spots danced around in his vision.

So he remained on the ground, waiting, silently, until the throbbing pain ceased and only left a numb feeling in his brain. He needed to rest, but that was merely impossible on this ground, for sharp little rocks stuck out of the floor and pinched his skin. Furthermore, it was ice cold in this dungeon which made Elrond shift in uneasiness, as if death lay upon this place. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel it in the ground, smell it in the air. Death. Sudden anxiety rushed over him and Elrond had trouble breathing as if someone had tied a big knot in his lungs, making it impossible to suck in air — never had Elrond felt such panic before.

But he had also never been underground this long. Elves weren’t meant to be underground, they needed both sun- and starlight, fresh air, the smell of trees, the rustling of the leaves, the sound of water running down a river, none of which were here. Elrond was alone, surrounded by darkness, and darkness alone.

After some time, Elrond managed to get up on his feet, although he remained in a more or less crouched position since he didn’t want to knock himself out by bumping his head on the low ceiling. 

He began walking around, examining every inch of each wall, hoping for a sign, an exit, something. But he wasn’t lucky. The only way out was the door the orcs had used before, and escaping through that one was out of the question.

Of course, he had known that his search would end that way before he even started it, for he knew that orcs weren’t as dumb as they seemed. They knew what they were doing, and they took pleasure in harming people, especially Elves since their hatred for Elrond’s folk went back many centuries. 

What bothered him the most, though, was the fact that no one knew about his disappearance. After all, who suspected the Lord of Imladris to get abducted by a bunch of orcs? Certainly not Thranduil, and Elrond highly doubted that the Elvenking would come looking for him — their relationship was purely based on formality, but there was no liking between the two leaders. No, Thranduil wouldn’t dare to risk dirty hair for the sake of Elrond. 

“You’re on your own,” he muttered to himself. Now, he could only wait. Wait for someone to come, to open the door to his cell, even if only to punch and kick him. He had run out of options — while, of course, there had only ever been one. 

Suddenly, the heavy door burst open with a loud crash and two orcs stormed in.

“Get up, you filthy worm,” one of them snarled and grabbed Elrond by his shoulders to get him to his feet. The Half-Elven tried to look as strong as possible, although he certainly didn’t feel that way. He couldn’t show any weakness, for he knew that, if he did, the orcs would notice and take advantage of it, not to mention the pure joy they’d feel once they knew that their blows and kicks onto Elrond’s body were met with pain. 

The orc’s claws pierced Elrond’s skin, but the Half-Elven let it happen and didn’t resist since there was no way he could fight his way out of this place, as he didn’t know anything about his whereabouts. He followed the orcs and occasionally stumbled over rocks that lay in his path. No sign was left of the graceful elven way of walking. He was a prisoner, and none of his elvish powers would aid him at that moment. 

“Move faster, scum!” the orc spat and pushed him forward.

There was no use trying to remember the path they were going, since this whole place seemed to be made of tunnels, and tunnels only, that led in various directions.

A maze, Elrond thought, though he didn’t dare to say it out loud. They took all kinds of turns and he tried to remember the way they’d come, but soon he was hopelessly lost. The orcs seemed to know very well how to navigate through this underground place, though Elrond had no idea how they did it. 

When light shone through the ceiling of a cave, which appeared to have come out of nowhere, the sudden sensation of strength flooded through Elrond’s body. He hadn’t noticed before, but the pain in his body and limbs wasn’t that strong because of the kicks only, but also because of the lack of light.

No Elf was made to remain underground, and Elrond had no idea how long it had been since he had last seen daylight. Even though he was surrounded by orcs, he felt relieved, at least until he got a painful blow into his back and he fell onto his knees, only to be pulled to his feet again.

“Is that how we treat our guests, Ugotah?” one of the orcs said with a pleased expression on his face.

“Yes, Urtak,” the orc snarled and spat a huge amount of saliva right into Elrond’s face, who tried to back away, disgusted. 

“Scum, you’re probably asking yourself why you’re here,” Urtak said. “And that’s why I’ll explain it to you.”

This was totally new to Elrond — never had it occurred to him that an orc could speak so fluently in Western, and even know so many words, as he had always assumed that all orcs had only half a brain. 

That was probably true for most of the orcs, but not this one. This orc, Urtak, was highly intelligent as it seemed, and Elrond doubted that he could fool him the way he had tricked many orcs before. 

“I am fine without this explanation of yours.” Elrond’s voice remained cold, fearless, and he looked the orc dead in the eye.

“But I do think it is of great interest for you,” Urtak continued and came forward until he stood right in front of Elrond. The latter used the opportunity to study his enemy, looking for weaknesses — the orc looked horrible, its skin seemed to be made of green and brown warts, and its face was marked by multiple scars, one of which went right across his face. 

He only had one eye, since his scar passed right through where his second eye should be, but where an empty eye socket remained. He was big and stronger than most orcs, and Elrond noted that not only his intelligence made him different from his breed, which made the Half-Elven question whether he’d be able to win a fight against him and if yes, how? 

He didn’t have any weapons and there were at least a dozen orcs in this cave, silently eyeing him and their leader, but Elrond was sure they’d intervene if he tried to escape.

“Let me explain,” Urtak began anew. “The almighty Elvenking of Mirkwood has killed many of my spawn, which almost completely erased my tribe. I commanded my people to bring him to me, but they didn’t. Instead, they brought you in. Of course, my scouts got the punishment they deserved.” He grinned and only then did Elrond notice something lying on the ground, which looked suspiciously like tubes. He quickly looked away.

“Only later did I realise,” Urtak continued, “that you might come in handy as well.”

Elrond gulped. What was the orc’s plan? Surely he didn’t mean to kill him just like that, because then he’d be dead already. There was something far greater going on than he could imagine. 

“You were taken in the dear princess's realm, so he needs to take care of it. He’ll come to your rescue, I’m sure of it. And when he comes, I’m going to capture him, torture him, squeeze his heart in his chest until the light in his eyes fades completely, I want to see him scream, beg for mercy, cry, I want to see him dead!”

A sudden panic threatened to overwhelm Elrond. He couldn’t let that happen.

“You don’t understand, you don’t know the way he thinks. He won’t do anything, he won’t come, he won’t care! You can keep me here as long as you like, and you can wait for him as long as you like, but in the end, it will be in vain, since he won’t be coming for me.”

“I don’t think so,” Urtak grinned, then grabbed a sword and hit Elrond’s head with the blunt side of it. The Half-Elven took one last look at the gleaming sunlight above him until his consciousness fled his body and his mind was trapped in darkness once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is doing okay in these crazy times. Writing this serves as a distraction from university and reality – maybe it can distract you too. Hope you liked this chapter, the next one will be up on Thursday!


	4. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil learns what he must do, while his son is worried and comforted.

Anxiety took hold of him and Thranduil quickly looked for a place to hide — he didn’t know who was approaching, but he was sure that it was no friend. 

And how many were coming? He didn’t know either, but he wanted to be ready instead of getting overwhelmed by foes. Carefully, not to make any sound, he quickly hid behind a big bush, readying himself. Whoever was approaching him would get a horrifying surprise, and Thranduil would do anything he could to get any news about the Half-Elven’s whereabouts. 

The Elvenking tried to make out the approaching figure, but all he could see was a slight shadow on the ground, moving swiftly towards him, a blade raised high in the air. One thing was clear: it was no Elf that noisily made their path towards the waiting King who had his blade raised. 

Thranduil held his breath in order not to make a sound, and the forest was silent. No noise was present in the moonlit darkness, no leaves rustling against each other, no animal moving around, no footsteps. The approaching figure had stopped in its tracks, and Thranduil could smell its horrible odor. 

Before the orc could react, he got up to his full height and attacked the creature, which had barely enough time to dodge the attack. It remained on the defensive since Thranduil was attacking it at a high speed, never letting his blade rest, never allowing his opponent to regain composure. 

But instead of appearing shocked, his foe grinned and showed him its yellow and black teeth, unsheathing its own sword and Thranduil knew that it had only awaited his attack. The Elf hesitated for a second, for he was sure that something bigger was going on, something he didn’t understand yet. 

It was the orc’s turn to attack him, and Thranduil parried his strikes with his own blade, deflecting the sword and raising his own to attack anew. He didn’t want to kill this enemy — but spare him, only to obtain some answers about what happened to Elrond.

He needed to know, and maybe this orc could help him. But even if he did, Thranduil didn’t know if he had the time to return and get some guards to help him on this quest, because there was no time to lose. Elrond needed help now, and Thranduil would come to his aid, but how much time did he have left? And was there even time left to spare?

He was so distracted in his thoughts that he barely noticed how his opponent’s eyes focused on something behind the Elvenking — too late did he notice that another orc approached behind him, just when Thranduil struck the one in front of him behind his ribs which made the orc scream, not of pain, but surprise. The wound wouldn’t kill him, but only weaken, which would make it easier for Thranduil to question him, if only he had noticed the orc sneaking up from behind. 

Not a second too late did Thranduil sense its presence, and he turned around in a graceful pirouette, his blade raised, and it met the sword of the second orc and the sound of metal, of two swords colliding frightened a nearby squirrel which quickly darted off into a tree. 

How these orcs had become so resistant was a mystery to the Elf — the first orc had already gotten up, despite his injured rib cage. Every other orc would have either perished, or fled, but not this one. 

Attacked on his two sides, Thranduil drew a dagger to fend off the first orc while parrying the heavy blows of the second orc, who was much taller than the Elvenking. Two swords threatened to stab him, and the blow of a huge bat swung by the orc threatened to crush his bones. 

Thranduil dodged the attacks and stabbed the first orc in the thigh, but the creature barely noticed its wound and launched a blow at the Elf who stumbled back, his dagger falling to the ground and for a moment he thought that all was lost, when the orc’s bat collided with his stomach and he fell on the ground, gasping for air.

Meanwhile, at the palace, Legolas paced up and down, nervously fidgeting with his belt and daggers, hoping for a sign of his father. Many of the guards had come and seen him today, but the Elven Prince did not know what to do since in all the years he’d been alive, never had he been in a position where his father wasn’t around — he had painfully learnt not to live with a mother, but he’d always been very grateful to have a father like the one he had.

He didn’t deny that Thranduil was special in good and bad ways, as he was a warrior, but he was always someone who preferred to stay out of a fight unless he didn’t have any other choice. As he was a King, he cared a lot about his people, but he never meddled in strange affairs, since he cared more about his own realm than the rest of Middle-Earth. 

Legolas had a profound love for his father, who had always been by his side in his entire life, and when his father didn’t come home that evening after Lord Elrond’s disappearance, he couldn’t help but worry. He should have returned by now, but no sign of him. 

“My lord Thranduil wished not to be followed,” Riniel explained to Legolas. The guard and Healer had been called up into the throne room where Legolas impatiently awaited him. 

Riniel was a good friend, and the best Healer Mirkwood had ever seen. Only Elrond’s abilities could surpass those of Riniel, who was skilled when it came to plants and herbs, but also very graceful with a sword, but mostly, he was a dear friend of the Elven Prince, who cared about him very much. 

The two elves had been on hunting trips together already, and Riniel had proven himself a worthy and loyal companion of the prince, and so he had become a member of the guards, which was his profession in Mirkwood realm when there were no wounded soldiers that needed to be taken care of. 

“I can’t just let him go!” Legolas said, turning away from his friend, anger boiling inside of him.

“But it was his order, my lord,” Riniel replied, aware of Legolas’s emotions, for he always understood how the other Elf felt, even if they didn’t speak to each other about it. 

“Don’t call me lord,” the prince replied, shaking his head. He didn’t want to be considered a prince, let alone a ‘lord’, especially when his father had gone off to somewhere he couldn’t find him. 

“How about we go search for him if he doesn’t come back in two days?” Riniel suggested, his brown eyes full of worry. 

“Two days?” Legolas turned around and looked at his friend, mixed emotions visible on his face — worry, sadness, fury. Surely, Riniel didn’t expect him to wait so long for his father’s return, when Elrond Peredhel was in danger, and then his father was probably in danger as well. 

“It was your father’s order,” Riniel continued. “It was our King’s order.”

It was at this moment Riniel knew he had won.

“As you wish. I’m willing to wait for it. But if he’s not returned in two days, I will go look for him,” Legolas replied, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, a gesture of greeting and thankfulness. “Will you come with me?”

“To war and peace, my lord, will I follow you.”

This time, Legolas didn’t object to his title.

“Has it been enough for you, scum?” one of the orcs said through gritted teeth, looking down at Thranduil’s seemingly frail body lying on the ground, weaponless. Thranduil coughed up a bit of blood — he felt that his ribs had been damaged, and the blood was no good sign either, let alone the fact that he still couldn’t breathe as well as he wished.

“We came to deliver a message,” the first orc said, clutching the wound in his ribcage which was still bleeding heavily. He began reciting a message which he had learnt by heart:

“I have your friend, the brown-haired Elf. He’s of no use for me, but I need him in order to achieve my goal. I want you. You shall feel my wrath, I want to see you dead, see you suffer, I want to drink your blood and spill the ground with it. You have two days to come to my stash, and if you don’t arrive on time, your filthy friend will suffer instead until he begs for his own death. His suffering has already begun. If you don’t face me in two days, your friend will only be a mutilated pile of meat and bones. You have two days.”

Thranduil gasped for air while a shiver went down his spine. He had guessed Elrond’s fate already, but he’d been hoping in silence that the Half-Elven had just fled to Rivendell. Another fit of coughs escaped him and his lungs and ribs hurt more than ever. 

“Understood, worm?”, the orc grinned and looked down at him. Judging from Thranduil’s expression, they knew that their message had had the right effect, so they turned around to leave him. But Thranduil was determined to make their departure more difficult than they’d hoped. 

With a groan, he grabbed for his blade which lay a few feet away from him and he got up, raising his sword once again, though his arms felt heavy and his lungs screamed for air.

He focused himself on breathing and lunged at the orcs, who weren’t prepared for yet another attack, to Thranduil’s benefit. He sliced open one orc’s stomach and ignored blood that left a red puddle on the ground — with a shriek, the orc fell on his knees and grabbed for his blade, but Thranduil was too quick for him and stabbed him in the chest. 

He heard the bones break and turned his sword around, worsening the damage. The orc said no more and fell to the ground, motionless, while the other orc jumped onto Thranduil’s back, causing the Elf to lose his balance. 

They both stumbled and fell on the ground, both losing their blades as they collided with the hard ground. The Elf gasped for air, and the orc used its momentum to somehow roll onto his feet, grab his blade and flee. 

Thranduil looked after him, trying to make out a direction, trying to follow him, but his mind slipped away and left him in darkness, leaving room for only one thought.

Two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating yesterday as I initially intended, but I was quite busy which is why I straight-up forgot to upload the new chapter. Here it was, now, and I'll be back on Monday with the next chapter!


	5. Decisions and Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond is in pain, and Thranduil makes a decision.

Amused, Urtak paced up and down, laughing — he was still able to recall a rather vivid memory of Elrond falling on the ground, bleeding heavily from his forehead. His breathing had been shallow and barely visible. What weak and fragile creatures Elves were. They might be immortal, yet so easily defeated. 

A little while ago, his one scout had come back, with the most pleasant news. The Elvenking was on his way, all on his own. He’d pay for the orc’s life that he’d taken in combat, but he was satisfied that he’d at least been hurt. 

He wanted him to suffer, he wanted to see him cry in pain and pay for everything he’d done to Urtak’s tribe. But mostly, he wanted to let Elrond witness the death of his friend, for he knew that any Elf could die of a broken heart, despite their immortality. He wanted revenge. 

Revenge for everything. 

Urtak was currently alone in his cave, and Elrond’s blood was still on the ground, a red puddle reflecting the now dim sunlight. He bent down and dipped his finger in the red liquid and licked it with his tongue, enjoying every second of it — the metallic taste of Elvenblood was the tastiest blood in Middle—Earth, and it always strengthened the orc.

Since his birth, Urtak had always lusted for this Elvenblood, for this taste he’d never forget in his life. Even the air was filled with Elvish smell — blood and sweat could be tasted in the air. Another orc passed by and Urtak gave him an already bloody whip, which the other orc took with his massive claws, immediately understanding what he was wanted to do. 

Urtak laughed for a long time until he became quiet again — only so he could hear screams echoing in the underground maze, the sound of a whip slashing through the air and connecting with flesh, bones and blood. 

Badkit raised his arm with which he was holding the whip and he grinned down at the Half-Elven lying at his feet — Elrond was shivering, his hands in front of his face in order to protect it. 

His cheeks had already been cut open, as well as his stomach. Long, deep wounds scarred his body, and blood was spilled on the ground and left a metallic smell in the air. 

Again and again, Badkit let his whip descend onto Elrond’s body, and he liked every second of tormenting the creature in front of him. No empathy or pity took hold of the orc, only a deep and dark pleasure in hurting this bloody mess in front of him. His whip left a long trail on the Half-Elven’s body and Elrond let out a scream of pain. 

“Please,” he begged, having given up to resist the pain, “stop it! Please!”

But his screams remained unheard, for the whip hurt him again and again, and the orc had no intention of stopping his actions. 

Elrond’s entire body seemed to be on fire, everything hurt, from his face to his toes, everything seemed to burn — his vision was decorated with dark spots dancing around, and Elrond silently begged for the darkness to overwhelm him, so he could be free of this agony. 

And then it stopped all of a sudden.

His vision a blur, Elrond looked up to see the orc cleaning off the blood on the whip with his cloth. 

“That would be enough,” he grinned. “At least for today.”

With those words, the orc turned on his heels and left the cave, abandoning Elrond once again, who lay on the ground, writhing in pain, choking on his spit and blood. But once in a while, the same question haunted him: would Thranduil be safe?

A new rush of agony waved over him, but this time, it wasn’t due to his physical damage. Elrond knew very well what it was. 

A vision.

_Thranduil entered Elrond’s cell with his blade raised high above him, although his posture was rather bent over — was he hurt?_

_He seemed to be in pain, for his hand clutched his side, even as he kneeled down to look at Elrond, his blond hair a mess._

_The Half-Elven couldn’t move, even as the Elvenking gently touched him to take a look at his wounds, which had severely damaged him, for he was barely conscious._

_His eyelids fluttered, as if sensing the other Elf’s presence, but his gaze wouldn’t focus — until he spotted a dark figure looming over Thranduil, his bloodied sword raised in deadly, and Elrond wanted to scream, but no sound would escape his lips._

_Questioning the Half-Elven’s expression and full of worry, he wasn’t alarmed quick enough, for the orc already stabbed him in the back. Not a deadly wound, though, since Thranduil had sensed his presence, only to dodge certain death just in time._

_The wound, however, was dangerous, and the Elvenking only got to his feet in a heavy movement, none of his Elvish grace visible anymore._

Elrond groaned. This couldn’t be the future!

_Thranduil fell to the ground, right in front of him. The Elf’s skin was white as chalk and his eyes remained unfocused. Right above him, the orc raised his sword to end the fight and let the Elf perish._

“No…” Elrond murmured, before his consciousness was swallowed by darkness

Groaning, Thranduil opened his eyes with great toil — his vision was blurred and he could only make out the faint silhouettes of trees looming over him and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind slowly but steadily alerted his senses. 

A wave of calm rushed over him and he quietly counted up to ten and opened his eyes anew. Everything was dark, except for the moon illuminating the sky with its faint silver glow. How much time had passed? 

With a shock, Thranduil remembered the orc’s message and heaved himself into a sitting position. The sudden movement hurt, but the Elvenking ignored it as best as he could. He cautiously touched his side with one hand and winced — the touch hurt and the Elf was sure that at least one rib had been broken. 

Two days.

How was he supposed to find Elrond in such a short time? 

He was injured, he couldn’t move well, and he had no idea where his friend was being held captive. He paused. 

He had never considered the Half-Elven a friend, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt or worse, dead. But how was that important now? He needed to save Elrond, regardless of whether they were friends or enemies, that was out of the question. 

He forced himself to breathe evenly and slowly, he got up to his feet. 

The pain in his chest was practically unbearable, but he remained upright, trying his best to avoid any sudden movement. 

The dead orc on the ground caught his glance, but the Elf ignored it. Only after he had freed Elrond would he worry about himself, and until then, he’d ignore his own pain.

Heavily breathing, he forced himself to move forward, analyzing his surroundings — he couldn’t make out much, for his vision was still a blur, but he knew that for sure that there wasn’t enough time to go back and get some guards. 

Maybe his son would come looking after him in time — he could only hope. For now, he was on his own.

Every step hurt, but for the sake of Elrond, he had to do this. A second encounter with the orcs was something he wanted to avoid very much, as he had no desire to get beaten up even more and collect new bruises. 

The ones he had were more than enough already. At the slightest sound, he grabbed for his sword in order to be ready for any fight that might break out any minute. 

But it was usually an animal running through the bushes, harmlessly jumping around Thranduil’s legs before it disappeared again in the darkness. 

Desperate, he wandered around, praying to find the entrance to whatever lair the orcs were hiding in. But where should he start his search? 

For all he knew, it could be anywhere, and he had neither the strength nor the time to search the entire forest. He cursed himself for leaving on his own. Why had his pride kept him from asking for company, while all he now wanted was a companion because then, his chances of finding Elrond alive would be higher than they were now. 

He was enraged, he hated the orcs for simply existing, he hated himself for being foolish, he hated everything — but this feeling of rage made him continue his search. 

He didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and he surely didn’t want to leave Elrond hanging.

He ignored the despair that took form deep within his soul and he blocked out the lump in his throat that threatened to suffocate him. 

But every now and then, he had to hold back tears that formed in his eyes. Although the One Ring had been destroyed, there was still so much of the terror left in Middle-Earth, and both Thranduil and Elrond had become victims of it. 

All he had left was hope, hope for his friend still being alive, even though he feared that his condition might already be worse than he expected it to be. A single tear ran down his cheek, but the Elf made no effort of holding it back. 

How was he so worried about Elrond, all of a sudden? All they had done lately was to ignore each other or argue — why was he so desperate, then?

His heart skipped a beat as he thought about finding Elrond and bringing him to safety — he could finally prove the Half-Elven wrong, showing him that he was indeed brave enough to enter an orc’s lair all by himself to save his life.

He entered a small glade where the moonlight shone brighter than ever — memories of his wife entered his mind and overwhelmed him.

Oh! how he had loved her, how he still loved her, although she had passed away millennia ago. All that was left of her were memories, and even they began to fade, just like she had. 

He had been prosperous, with her at his side, but without her, he’d never been truly happy, not even when his son became the most skilled archer in Middle-Earth. He loved his son, but he doubted that anyone could replace the loss and hole she had left in his heart. 

A small lake reflected the light and Thranduil sat down next to its shore. 

He didn’t make a sound, he only looked out at the water and cried silently, allowing the sorrow and despair to take hold of him for once, after blocking it out for centuries. How he had not died of a broken heart, he could not tell. 

It was painful, being immortal. Men always envied the never-ending life of Elves, but little did they understand, for they were oblivious to the pain that came with it. Seeing your mortal friends age and die, being part of every battle, seeing your loved ones go. 

He had never told Legolas, but when he’d gotten the news that he was a part of the Fellowship of the Ring, he was sick with worry about his son, as he doubted that he could take yet another heartbreak. And now Elrond’s life was at stake.

Thranduil would find him, no matter the cost. 

New courage was born inside him, and he got up, wiping his tears away with his sleeve. He had to outsmart the orcs. He wouldn’t obey their orders. He would wait for them, and he’d be ready for when they’d come. 

As soon as he found out about their lair, he’d attack them, but therefore, he had to wait. He had to wait for his revenge, to make them pay for what they’d done to him and Elrond. He remained standing straight, trying to ease his mind and let it rest for what was yet to come. He’d kill all of the orcs. All of them. 

A voice sounded in his head, strange, but yet familiar.

_Help me. You only have one and a half day left. Help me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this chapter. I appreciate all kinds of feedback, it's very encouraging for a new writer on this platform, even though the story is not new to me. Hope you have a nice day and see you on Thursday!


	6. Scouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two orcs are sent out to look for Thranduil, and Elrond has a vision.

The orcs proceeded with heavy steps in the forest, looking for Thranduil. Gnarz and Kombul didn’t try to be quiet and hide their presence – their mere goal was to find the Elf, so there was no need in remaining hidden in the shadows, which, of course, had long gone, after the sun had risen.

It was unusual for orcs to be outside after sunrise, but these were different — they had been sent on a quest and they would not disobey their master, for the fear of him was too huge. Besides, they wanted to have a bit of fun with the Elf. 

Furthermore, the chance of meeting another Elf other than the King was very low, since this part of the forest was seldom visited by the folk. And if one happened to cross their path...they had their weapons ready. 

So they walked next to each other, without speaking, their gaze fixed on something far ahead. Urtak’s order had been clear — find the Elf. It was simple.

However, it wasn’t specified that they weren’t allowed to have their own little revenge, which they were looking already forward to. Death would come upon the Elf sooner than he expected.

After having walked for some time, Kombul interrupted the silence.

“What are you thinking of?”

That was typical — of course he’d bother Gnarz with some stupid silly question. The other orc answered nonetheless. 

“I’m thinking of a whining worm, crying on the ground while his blood stains the ground,” he answered, visualizing the scene in his mind — oh, how he loved the sheer notion of it, and he earned a laugh from his comrade. 

A few birds got startled and opened their wings to fly away, but Gnarz quickly jumped high in the air and caught one with his hand — the little sparrow cried out in fear but was soon silent as the orc crushed its frail body with his hand. 

The orc grinned and let the broken body fall onto the ground. How mighty he felt, and how powerless some beings were. Soon, the Elf was to realize that as well. 

“I will do this to the Elf as well,” he said, taking a last glance at the perished bird. 

They were quiet again, until a barely audible sound reached their ears. Gnarz slowly raised one finger to his lips in order to keep his stupid companion quiet. Luckily, the other orc understood and shut his mouth. 

Was it the Elf who was hiding and causing the noise? 

He grabbed the hilt of his sword tighter and raised his blade. Slowly, they arrived at a glade with a small lake in its middle, but they were in the right place, as Thranduil was lying on the grass, his hair messy because of the wind, his eyes closed. 

He appeared to be sleeping. Grinning, Gnarz approached the quiescent figure on the ground and the orc licked its lips. 

Soon, the Elf would wish he had never been born.

Happy, he looked at Kombul who had a bloodlust very much written all over his face. In order to make him stay, Gnarz held out a hand and firmly pushed him back.

“We’ve got to be smart, now, you fool!” he hissed, as he did not want his mission to fail. 

Not now, not when he was so close to overpowering his enemy. 

“You go over to him and overwhelm him, if he tries to flee or fight back, I’ll join you and together, we will win and take revenge!”

Kombul didn’t like following orders, but he did as he was told nonetheless. The knife which he was holding in his hand was big enough to stab right through Thranduil’s upper body and for the tip of the blade to emerge at the other side. 

It was a deadly weapon, and the Elf had no idea what awaited him. A chuckle dared to escape him, but he managed to hold it back by focusing on the task ahead of him. How stupid the Elves were, lying around in a glade, not hidden at all, as if he were awaiting company. 

Hidden by bushes, Gnarz observed the very movement of the other orc, readying himself for whenever he needed to be ready. 

For now, Kombul was doing well, for the Elf had not stirred at all and his eyes had remained closed.

Kombul loomed over Thranduil’s sleeping figure, who seemed to neither smell, nor hear, nor sense his enemy’s presence — not even as the orc raised his knife and stabbed down at the Elvenking.

Not far away, Elrond was bathed in sweat and blood, his breath was going fast and his whole body trembled. 

It had not been a vision of the future of what was happening, but the present. What he had seen of Thranduil was happening at this very second, and now, it was probably already too late for his friend, for he had seen how the orc had stared down onto his body. 

Why had Thranduil not been moving? He should have sensed the orcs’ presence, although he had seemed quite injured. The Healer had a keen eye for injuries of any type, and he knew that Thranduil was in no good shape, let alone a state where he could fight off two heavily armed orcs at once. 

And if what he had witnessed was true, then the Elvenking had indeed come looking for him. But why? Elrond wondered. 

They had never felt sympathy for one another, why was now the time to start being friendly towards each other? 

The Half-Elven simply did not understand it — never had he been so wrong in his life, believing that Thranduil was some King who never got off his throne to fend off his own lands. But as it seemed, there was more to him than only a King, but also a loyal companion. 

Feelings of guilt rushed over him — was Thranduil really risking his life to save Elrond? 

His heart hurt as he remembered the vision he’d just had. Thranduil was probably dead already, and Urtak had succeeded. 

And whose fault was it? Elrond was to blame — had he not been so foolish and stepped out into the forest to let his anger at the Elf pass, the orcs would never have had the chance to overwhelm and capture him, and Thranduil would never have been in danger. 

If Elrond died now as well, Thranduil’s death would have been in vain.

“Look at where we are,” he muttered to himself. “The great race of Elves.”

With that thought, he fell asleep, his body against the cold stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a rather short chapter, but there is yet a lot more to come. Thank you for reading thus far, and I hope to see you back on Monday!


	7. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is under attack and has to fight – but will he be able to locate where Elrond is being held captive?

Thranduil was already wide awake when he heard the approaching footsteps — he had only slept for about an hour, for his body and mind had been restless. 

Finally, he’d been able to drift into a dreamless sleep, his eyes wide open as it was common among the Elves. He forced himself to stay calm and closed his eyes and focused on breathing steadily. 

He knew who was approaching, of course, and he had long expected it. There were two orcs, which was good, and Thranduil was confident that he’d be able to take down at least one, once again. 

Suddenly, the heavy steps stopped and the Elvenking remained as still as before, even as the horrid smell of the orcs reached his nose. But he maintained a straight face and lay still, awaiting the further approach of the orcs. 

He sent out all his senses, trying to locate the orcs, knowing they were nearby, one quietly approaching him, the other standing farther away. 

When he was sure that one of them was right there, close enough, the Elvenking grabbed his own blade and thrust it upon his opponent’s body — the weapon pierced the flesh and dark blood spilt from the wound. 

The orc said no more, he just glanced at his own weapon which he had dropped as he had been taken by surprise, then at the hilt of the sword that protruded from his chest. 

“Never assume an Elf is sleeping,” Thranduil said through gritted teeth, “when the Elf’s eyes are closed.”

With those words, he withdrew the weapon from the orc who fell to the ground, motionless. 

Thranduil got to his feet and his rib hurt more than ever — his breathing was shallow, and he could only hope that his assumption about the presence of two orcs only would prove itself to be true. 

The second orc rushed out from behind a bush and attacked Thranduil with all his might, the fury blazed in his eye like a wildfire. 

The Elf parried the attack and pushed back the attacker, while the orc obviously knew that his own opponent was injured and in no shape to fight for a longer time and he used every opportunity for his offence. 

Thranduil had to act fast if he wanted to escape with his life, but all he was doing at that moment was to avoid any injuries. 

With gritted teeth, the Elvenking raised his sword and stabbed forward and hit the orc’s wrist — the orc cried out in surprise but dropped his sword, for his hand was now uselessly hanging down from his arm. He bent down to pick up his weapon again, but Thranduil used the opportunity to grab his dagger and stab the orc in the back, who fell onto the ground, his blood staining the grass in red.

He was not yet dead, though, and the Elf furiously lifted him up by his shoulders so they could be face to face. 

“Where is your hideout!” Thranduil cried, but the orc only grinned at him with foul, black teeth. How could this creature look upon death and still seem delighted?

“Answer me!” He shook the orc which did more damage than good, and the orc stopped breathing and went limp in Thranduil’s grasp. 

The Elf let out a loud, frustrated scream and leant against a big tree, gasping for breath. This had been his only chance, because why was he supposed to find Elrond if he had no clue whatsoever?

But he couldn’t give up, not now, not when Elrond’s life was in danger more than ever. And what did the orcs want from him? There had to be an ulterior motive to this, and Thranduil would find out what it was. 

He closed his eyes and repeated the message that had been delivered to him over and over again in his head, searching and scanning for answers in every line, for some kind of sign, but he couldn’t find one. Tears welled in his eyes as despair took hold of him yet again and he tried not to picture his captured friend in any bad state. 

Elrond shouldn’t be in that position at all if anyone deserved it, it was Thranduil, for not having participated in any war, for not helping out the Elves, for quarrelling with the dwarves, for locking himself in, for ignoring the needs of other people — Elrond deserved none of this.

But why was it important to him now? He had never cared, and not caring had been much easier. 

So why change now? For a Half-Elven? 

But it was Elrond, probably the best Healer in Middle—Earth and one of the best fighters there had ever been. They had never got along which had never been kept a secret, but still, Thranduil could not bear the thought of the Lord of Imladris dying in his Kingdom. 

He had to think. There had to be a way. There was always a way. But there was not enough time — the deadline was approaching faster than he wanted it to, and he had to act fast. A thought started to form in his mind — would he be able to track the orcs’ footsteps? 

He was no ranger and not at all skilled like Legolas’s friend, Aragon, son of Arathorn, but he could try. 

New hope lived inside him, now, but his headache made it hard to think. He had to focus, so he blinked a few times to get rid of the dancing black spots in his vision. 

This had to work. He approached the bush in which the second orc had been hiding some time before he attacked Thranduil and later on perished. And indeed, the leaves on the ground were a bit crushed here and there – surely the orcs had come this way. 

Silently and focused on his new task, Thranduil followed the footsteps on and on. The sight of a crippled sparrow’s body made his heart ache — the Elf was glad that the orc who had done this to the bird had died, for no animal deserved this treatment. 

Thankfully, the orcs had a heavy step, which seemed to become more visible to the eye once Thranduil had got used to following the track. Finding the lair should be easy now — the orcs had never been known as a very intelligent species. 

He would find Elrond and bring him to safety, even if it cost his own life, as long as the Half-Elven lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious – do you have any predictions as to what is about to happen? I hope you're doing well, and see you on Thursday!


	8. Traces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil follows the traces the orcs left him, hoping desperately to find the orcs' lair.

The faint sound of footsteps outside his cold cell reached the ears of the sleeping Half-Elven, who barely heard him, as the constant headache prevented him from focusing on anything, a feeling he had got used to during the past few hours. 

He was still lying on the ground, shivering from the cold — normally, Elves weren’t bothered by any change of temperature, and the fact that he was cold now was no good sign. He desperately tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy and the effort drained him. 

His whole body felt numb — it was no pain, not exactly, but he preferred feeling pain to feeling nothing at all. 

The door to his cell was firmly closed and no light escaped into the room in which he was being held captive.

Despite his elvish senses and having spent hours in this dark space, he still could barely make out anything — oh, how he wished for just a glance at the light of the sun. She always gave him strength just by her mere presence. 

And even though he knew that Thranduil was on his way, he doubted they’d make it out alive, as they were both hurt and weakened. 

His throat felt raw and he coughed a few times, only for his voice to vanish completely. He’d been way too long without water, even an Elf would have trouble now. 

If the orcs wanted to keep him alive, they might have had thought of providing him with sustenance instead of letting him starve and die of thirst. As if on cue, the door opened and an orc threw in some kind of bottle which shattered into a million pieces at its impact on the ground. 

The door had already closed again. Weak, Elrond crawled over to where the liquid lay on the ground, aware of the shards that could hurt him, but also in desperate need of water. 

Like a dog, he lay there and sipped the water — all the while, humiliation making him feel awful. How had it come to this, for him to beg for water like a dog, and drinking just like one? 

But thankfully, it seemed to indeed be water, and fresh one too, and a bit of his strength returned. He doubted that there was any poison in it, for if the orcs wanted him dead, they could have killed him already long ago. 

Besides, they were waiting for Thranduil, so they couldn’t kill him. At least not yet.

New footsteps outside his cell made him jump — what now? What was their business now? Fear of being tortured again gave him strength, and Elrond crawled to a corner of the room farthest away from the door which was thrown open right one second later. 

It wasn’t his type, cowering in a corner, but being underground had a larger impact on Elves than men could ever expect. He wasn’t a warrior, at least not anymore, the orcs had taken care of that. 

Now he was only a prisoner who couldn’t help himself anymore, what was left of him was the simple shell of an Elven Lord. 

He was surprised at the sight of the orc who had entered the room. 

Urtak. 

Never before had the leader of the pack visited him in his cell, and the fear of what he had in store for him became almost unbearable. 

Urtak moved faster and more gracefully than any other orc, and within a second, he kneeled in front of Elrond and he still appeared very tall, despite being on eye level with the Half-Elven. Without warning, he kicked Elrond’s shoulder hard, and he felt how his collar bone cracked under the sudden pressure.

“Your little friend, this woodland scum, is on his way.”

Elrond’s heart skipped a beat as he heard it — Thranduil was on his way! How could he ever have doubted him? 

“Remember what I told you. We’re gonna pierce his sharp eyes with metal spikes, we’re gonna rip out his filthy tongue, we’re gonna cut off each of his fingers one by one until he begs for his own death which we will give him slowly and painfully. When his blood is spilt on the ground, you will be the first to drink it, until you follow him into the realm of the dead.” 

He spat Elrond in his face and the Half-Elven backed away in disgust, wiping his skin clean with his arm. 

Urtak had told him about his plan before already, but that didn’t make it any less scary. In fact, the whole act that the orc was pulling off only seemed more and more real and Elrond was scared that it might actually really happen. 

And the worst thing was, he was the catalyst in this whole act of revenge and he could do nothing to prevent the inevitable. Coughing, he turned around and vomited on the ground, retching, his throat sore, gasping for breath. 

“Thranduil…”he whispered, his vision darkening. “Don’t…”

Meanwhile, the Elvenking’s heart was racing as he followed the footsteps. 

Sometimes, as he wasn’t used to following a trace, he was scared that he might have lost it, and when it happened, he panicked a little on the inside, and all the while, he could not stop his hands from trembling, for his fear of never finding his friend again was ubiquitous, following him with every step he took. 

Once, he thought he had lost the trace for real, but then he spotted a footprint buried in the leaves on the ground and he let out a sigh of relief. 

At the back of his mind, he was sure though that the orcs were awaiting him. 

It was too easy. It had to be a trap. 

For the first time, he hoped that maybe Elrond wasn’t imprisoned at all, but that it had just been a ruse of the orcs to get him into their hideout, which would mean his certain death, though. An uneasiness took hold of him and would not let him go.

That wasn’t the only thing that bothered him — his injuries made it hard to think, especially his ribs which hurt with every breath he took. 

But what was worse was the way his heart hurt whenever he thought of Elrond. He could barely think of anything else. 

“Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?” These two questions haunted him and would not vanish, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, he would not succeed. 

If the Half-Elven was still alive — he could only hope so. 

He prayed that he was doing the right thing. He winced as he exhaled a bit too deeply and a sharp pain erupted in his ribcage. This had to work. 

What also made him wonder was how he cared so much about him. Thranduil remembered being extremely annoyed by Elrond’s mere presence in his throne room, then why was he now sick with worry? What was different now? But he didn’t have the time to question everything now, he had to act fast. 

It was like everything he’d ever taught his son: never let your emotions take over. 

The forest was peaceful that night, no sound or trace of giant spiders in this corner of the woods, which was good — the Elves finally gained the upper hand in the beasts the number of which continued to decrease each day. 

Nobody would think anything evil was roaming this forest, and Thranduil wished deeply it were the case.

After the ring had been destroyed, he had hoped for all evil being destroyed as well — a foolish hope. Middle-Earth, and Mirkwood, were far from peace. 

And now the Elvenking was on his way to rescue Elrond, who had been captured by orcs. He hated those creatures more and more with each minute that passed. They were going to pay for all the troubles they had put him and his people through.

Thranduil was beyond grateful for his Elvish senses: he was alert with every sound that was made, even when it was only a bird or some other animal. 

He let his gaze wander around, never letting his eyes rest too long on one specific leaf or branch — he had to see everything in this pitch-black darkness, which only the moon illuminated from high above. He was thankful for his light step, which allowed him to move as soundlessly as even possible, and he knew that the orcs would neither see nor hear him approach. 

His heart stopped when he couldn‘t see any footprints ahead of him anymore. He didn‘t understand, as, when he turned around, the imprints in the ground were still there, as visible as ever. 

But right there in front of him, they suddenly vanished into the air. Was it possible that he had found the secret lair of the orcs? Was it possible for him to rescue Elrond? 

They couldn‘t have climbed up a tree since the steps didn‘t end near one unless they had jumped a long distance to read the lowest branch of the nearest tree. Thranduil‘s heart sank — they had to be underground. 

Groaning in pain, the Elf bent down and started looking for a hidden entrance to the orc‘s hiding place.

Maybe Elrond was directly beneath him, and he just didn‘t know it — there had to be an entrance, it was the only way. Frantically, he started searching, shoving leaves and dirt aside, when his hands, finally, after what felt like an eternity of searching, found something made of metal. 

Not even his keen eyes would have been able to spot it since it was so well hidden. 

He took hold of the handle and pulled it up, breathing in sharply due to the pain which flared up in his body. 

The Elvenking couldn‘t fathom how the orcs had been able to install such a trap for he‘d always thought of them as inferior creatures with no real mind of their own. But now, he started to realize that maybe, just maybe, his opponent wasn‘t as cockeyed as he‘d always thought.

As soon as he had jumped down the hole, he felt like he was in an utterly different world — no sign of light, no movement, no noise, just darkness and his lone self. 

He couldn‘t make out anything, it was as if his senses had completely shut down. His stomach lurched and his heart was racing. Being underground was bad enough for a Wood Elf, but not being able to see anything made it even worse. 

He shivered, the cold was practically unbearable. Thranduil would have turned on his heels to exit this underground place if it weren‘t for his friend, who was in desperate need of his help — he couldn‘t give up. Not now. 

He drew in a steady breath and took a step forward, constantly leaving his hands on the walls around him. It was a narrow hallway, and even though he couldn‘t see, they gave him some kind of security. 

At least they allowed him to have the tiniest bit of navigation through this place, although some unpleasant thoughts kept crossing his mind. Thranduil tried to block out the imagination of a trap right in front of him.

He winced when the wall on his right suddenly made a turn to the right, while ahead of him, another path continued — he was at a crossroads. 

There were two ways that he could choose from. Either ahead or right. Thranduil continued forward, only to almost crash into a wall right in front of him. Dead end. With his hands trembling, he slowly turned around, trying to keep the growing panic at bay. 

He didn‘t want to be in this underground place, lost like a creature with no mind, afraid, panicking. 

If his whole journey hadn‘t been bad enough already, this was definitely the climax of his entire situation.

He was in an underground labyrinth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading today's chapter. I do hope the story is living up to your expectations. Take care of yourselves, and see you Monday!!


	9. Found at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is Legolas in all of this, and how will Thranduil proceed?

Riniel started to worry about his friend, who couldn‘t seem to rest — Legolas was restless, constantly moving, unable to sit down for at least some time. 

Despite his work as a guard, his duty lay with those in need of help, and the Healer sensed that Legolas needed emotional support. He was no weak Elven Prince: everyone knew that he was courageous, brave and loyal, and his part in the Fellowship of the Ring had impressed every Elf of Mirkwood, and they all looked up to him with praise, though the Elf always shrugged at it, because he claimed that he hadn‘t played such a big part in it. 

Yet, Riniel had witnessed how Thranduil had gone out of his mind with worry about his son, and whether he would return from his journey or not, and the Healer had been utterly impressed when the King declared he‘d go after his son to help, and it took every guard in the Kingdom to hold their King back from leaving, since they needed him more than ever. 

Now, Riniel was living through a memory so vivid he thought he could take it by his bare hands. 

Thranduil was away, and Legolas was now at the palace, worrying about what the future might have in store for him and his father. 

They‘d had their differences, but they‘d always managed to put them aside, for the love between father and son was so strong, it couldn‘t break. But Riniel was afraid of the current events breaking either Legolas or Thranduil, especially now: nobody knew where the King resided, despite being in his Kingdom. 

Nobody knew anything about his fate. 

All they could do was hope that he‘d return. It was the second day that he‘d been away. No sign of him. 

Tomorrow, nothing could hold Legolas back from going after his father and looking for him. And for all he knew, Riniel would accompany him, for he was scared that much help was needed.

Thranduil‘s heart was racing as he was walking through one dark tunnel after another, trying to breathe as lightly and soundlessly as possible, scared, that he might run into a pack of orcs after every corner. 

He could hear his own blood in his veins, and his hands were shaking from adrenaline — his right hand remained on the hilt of his sword, ready to grasp for it whenever it was needed. 

Who knew what might attack him down there. Whenever he heard the faintest sound, he stopped and listened, holding his breath as long as he could, waiting for something to happen. But nothing ever did happen. 

It was like he was all alone in this labyrinth, but he remained vigilant — he couldn‘t make a mistake, not now, not when he was this close to Elrond.

He stopped in his tracks when he realized his biggest problem: finding Elrond was a hard task since he had no idea where to look, but would he find the right way afterwards to exit this place? 

He had made sure to memorize which way he was going, but this maze seemed vast, and the thought of getting lost in it made him shudder. There were no clues and he had no idea what to do next. He simply followed his instincts, but how could he be sure that it was the right way? Never in his whole life had he doubted himself, at least not this much.

But he would find Elrond and bring him to safety. He made a silent promise that he would get the both of them out of there. 

A whisper. 

The faintest sound of voices echoed across the walls and reached the Elf‘s ears, who stood still, not daring to move a muscle. 

Silently, he moved so he could press his body, despite the pain, against one of the walls so he‘d be less of a target — he couldn‘t understand a word the voices were saying, for they were speaking in a language Thranduil recognized but didn‘t understand, and mostly, didn‘t want to understand. 

Black Speech. 

Despite the destruction of Sauron, despite the destruction of the One Ring, there were still remnants of the Dark Lord‘s rule. 

A shiver was sent down his spine at the sound of the guttural pronunciation of words — it had none of the elegance of the Elvish languages, and Thranduil grimaced at the sound of it. Not only were the orcs ugly, but their language was a perfect match for their hideous looks. 

Thranduil had never been this nervous in any battle he‘d faced, not even in the Battle of the Five Armies, where he‘d fought and killed an uncountable mass of orcs. 

Right. Left. Straight forward. Right. Right. Left. 

The Elvenking desperately tried to get near the voices, although it likely meant suicide. 

But closer to the orcs probably meant closer to the heart of their lair, which also most likely meant closer to Elrond. He had to do this. He drew his sword in case anyone attacked him, and the longer he spent his time in the labyrinth, the easier it became to navigate through it.

Despite being underground, Thranduil‘s deep connection with nature didn‘t fail him, not even in such a desperate moment. He could feel her helping him, guiding him through the dark. 

He whispered a silent thanks to the earth surrounding him. 

He was alarmed when there was a sudden movement from a corridor nearby — Thranduil drew his sword as silently as he could, ready for any possible attack. 

Yet he retreated into the shadows to become practically invisible to any living creature, maybe he could surprise an enemy or two. He fought the urge of retreating in the direction from whence he came. 

This was the only right way. For whatever reason, the orcs had changed from Black Speech to Westron, so it became understandable for Thranduil as well, who listened carefully to their words.

„The Elven scum won‘t make it any longer,“ one of them hissed with a snarl. Even in Common Speech, orcs sounded throaty. 

But what did that mean? 

How bad was Elrond‘s condition really? Was he really on the verge of death? 

His heart sank. It also meant that the Half-Elven was still alive, though in a poor condition which Thranduil didn‘t want to imagine. The hint of a smile would have been on his face hadn‘t it been for the darkness. His stern face took over once again though, at the next words of the orc.

„Soon, he‘ll be dead. He won‘t live any longer. And I will drink his blood!“

Thranduil suppressed a cough — his stomach lurched. How horrid could a creature become? 

This was a matter of life and death, and he couldn‘t wait any longer, he had to act, now. As he had mustered the courage to walk forward, thinking that the orcs wouldn‘t say anything important anymore anyway, the creatures spoke anew, and the words that echoed in the tunnels made Thranduil shiver.

„The Elvenking is on his way,“ one of them said with a sneer. Thranduil held his breath — what was their business with him? 

„When he finds them,“ another orc said, „we‘ll stab him and let him bleed to death!“

Thranduil kept quiet and waited for more, but the orcs started moving away from him, and they spoke in their own tongue again, and Thranduil couldn‘t understand anymore, until he couldn‘t hear anymore. 

Had this been their goal all along? To lure him here, to kill him? 

Thranduil took a deep breath to steady himself.

The air in the labyrinth was stale and dusty, and the temperature was icy. Why were the orcs so fixed on him, and why did they want to kill him so badly? 

Of course, over the years he‘d made many enemies, but none had lived long enough to get their revenge. Besides, orcs weren‘t very intelligent, and they always went straight for the kill. Them being this strategic wasn‘t in their nature, and neither was building this kind of complex underground structure. 

But the Elvenking still had his goal in mind, which he was closer to achieving than ever. 

Elrond was here somewhere, somehow, he could feel it.

How he did, he had no idea, but that feeling grew stronger with every step he took, and soon, he was moving around following his instincts alone, not letting his mind get in the way of his search. 

„Stay alive, Elrond. Stay alive,“ he muttered to himself, more like a prayer.

Elrond‘s presence became stronger with each second, and Thranduil broke into a run as fast as he dared moved, despite his ribs flaming and burning. But something was different — despair had left him and made space for hope and courage. This was something he could win, and prove that he was no coward.

Thranduil would have crashed into this heavy, iron door that lay right in front of him if it weren‘t for his elvish instincts which stopped him just in time. 

He carefully examined it with his left hand, his right hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. There was a small barred window in the door, and Thranduil had to stand on his toes to see through it — his eyes had adjusted to this darkness after some time, which allowed him to make out the unmoving body on the floor. 

„Elrond?“ he whispered. 

Thranduil didn‘t know whether or not it was an Elf, or if it was Elrond, but the body came to life and lifted its head.

„Who...Thranduil?“ His voice was hoarse and not more than a whisper, but Thranduil knew now who was in front of him. It was indeed Elrond.

„I‘m going to get you out of here,“ Thranduil promised, but Elrond desperately tried to get on his feet but didn‘t succeed.

„No, don‘t!“ He tried to raise his voice, and Thranduil wondered how long he hadn‘t had some water. „Get yourself to safety, they—”

But he was cut off as a blow hit Thranduil in the back and sent him sprawling against a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First, I want to apologise for not updating last Monday – quarantine has me messing up the days and I was convinced it was Sunday although it was Monday, which is why I forgot to update. But here I am now, with a new chapter, knowing for a fact that it is Thursday now LOL. I actually am not quite content with how this chapter turned out, but I wanted to focus a bit on Legolas and Riniel as well. Also sorry for the cliffhanger. Hope you enjoyed it more than I did, and hope to see you back on Monday (that is, if I manage to keep track of the days).


	10. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's rescue-time.

Thranduil felt, how the air was basically kicked out of his chest, and a sharp pain erupted in his sides. How had he thought about having an advantage towards the orcs, when he clearly had nothing at his disposition? 

They had waited and ambushed him, but thankfully, his attacker was on his own, which might leave the slightest chance for Thranduil of winning the fight. 

The orc took his sword and lunged at the Elf, who barely dodged the attack by falling flat on the ground. The blade connected with the door with a sharp clang. 

With each movement, a new surge of pain flared up in his body which made him tremble. He groaned as he got up but grabbed his weapon nonetheless, holding it out in front of him and blocking a new attack. 

As the two blades connected, new strength surged through Thranduil and he stood up straighter, his feet firm on the ground. 

It was the adrenaline of the fight which always helped him against opponents. 

He would not let the orc win. Satisfied, he noticed that the orc breathed heavily as they fought — he‘d probably not known that Thranduil was still able to defend himself. He wouldn‘t lose. 

He couldn‘t lose. 

He was so close to freeing his friend, he wouldn‘t lose him, not again.

He kicked the orc with all his strength in the stomach, and his opponent fell to his knees with a cough. With new hope, Thranduil approached and attacked him with heavy blows and pushed him away from the door, and all the orc could do was dodge and block. 

But soon, it was his turn to block again, since the orc didn‘t seem to tire at all. Thranduil ducked a blow from the orc, only to be fooled — the orc had only pretended to punch him in the face, whereas he slammed the hilt of his sword into Thranduil‘s stomach which sent the Elf to the ground. 

Even as his vision blurred, he could make out a pair of keys falling from the orc‘s pockets. The creature didn‘t notice it since it was too focused on Thranduil. 

Keys. 

Were they the ones to Elrond‘s dungeon? Either way, they were Thranduil‘s new hope.

He noticed the sword coming at him at the last second, and he quickly rolled out of the way and a new wave of pain took him. With a deafening noise, the sword connected with the ground but the Elf was already getting on his feet. 

He would kill this orc. He remembered Elrond‘s words.

_You‘re part of this world._

Yes, he was. And he would do everything he could to protect the ones he loved. 

He screamed as he lunged at the orc, his sword drawn. The orc tried to get away from the blade, with no success. The sound of breaking bones and bursting organs made Thranduil shudder, but with yet another cry, he turned his weapon around in the orc‘s body before he withdrew it.

The orc was already dead as its body collided with the ground.

Triumphantly, he smiled and grabbed the keys, ignoring the pain in his limbs. His heart was pounding and he was limping, but as he reached the door, he tried the first key and to his surprise, it actually unlocked the door. 

The sight of Elrond pained him more than and physical agony he was in. Elrond could barely lift his head, and even such a small movement seemed to drain him. 

„Stay still,“ Thranduil whispered and kneeled down next to him. „I‘m here. Don‘t be afraid. You‘re not alone.“

„Yrch…“ Elrond whispered.

„There are no orcs here, at least not now. We have time.“ Thranduil tried to sound as reassuring as possible, though it wasn‘t enough. Even wounded, Elrond‘s mind worked better than ever, and no words would console him. 

„I‘ll get you out of here,“ Thranduil tried again, but Elrond only shook his head. 

Of course, the Elvenking had suspected that the Half-Elven would be weak but never had he considered the possibility that he wouldn‘t want to leave and refuse all help. 

„Go.“ This one word was barely audible. „Go and save your life.“

Elrond had his eyes closed, and he seemed determined to stay. But Thranduil wouldn‘t have that.

He hadn‘t risked his life multiple times only to go back now without Elrond. He took a deep breath, then gently put his hands on Elrond‘s shoulders and pulled him to his feet, supporting his weight so he wouldn‘t fall. 

„Save your life and leave me here, do it now, go!“ Elrond sounded almost angry. But Thranduil wasn‘t going to leave him to die.

„Elrond, save your breath and let me save your life.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This was a very short chapter, but more (and longer) chapters are yet to come.


	11. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Elrond try to escape.

Groaning, Thranduil pulled Elrond with him - the Half-Elven was already so weak, he couldn’t walk properly anymore, even though he tried to remain upright as best he could. 

They had to take many a break for the both of them to rest and slow their breathing, for the two Elves were both exhausted and hurt. With each pause they made, Thranduil’s worry increased more and more: their progress was too slow, they wouldn’t make it out in time, not before the orcs noticed Elrond’s absence in his cell. 

And if they discovered the empty cell, they would all know that Thranduil had come, and then they’d probably figure out that he was still down here. 

While rushing through one tunnel and another, he hoped that he remembered the right way - losing themselves would be fatal now, and then, Thranduil would be responsible for their doom for not remembering the right path. His heart was racing, and he gripped Elrond harder as he felt him stumble over a rock, ignoring his own pain that nearly drove him mad. 

How he could help Elrond remain upright remained a mystery to him since his own vision started to blur once in a while. 

“How did you not notice the orcs building an underground maze in your realm?” Elrond gasped.

“Be quiet”, said the other Elf in a whisper. “I do not know, for my way seldom leads me here. But I wonder, too, how they could build this labyrinth.”

“Anyway, I begin to understand how you don’t care about the rest of our world since you don’t seem to care enough about your own Kingdom to notice that such a plot is going on against you.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you saved me.”

“I haven’t saved you yet, and if you aren’t quiet, you’ll lead the orcs to us, and then neither of us will get out of here.”

Elrond opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. Even in the darkness, Thranduil could have sworn that the Half-Elven had smiled. 

As they both stumbled, they decided to take yet another rest to regain some of their strength, although Thranduil knew they couldn’t go on much longer. He helped Elrond sit down before he placed himself right in front of his companion. He took a deep look at Elrond’s bruised face, and a rush of pity dared to overwhelm him. 

What the Half-Elven had been through, he could not tell, but he dared not imagine it. 

“Elrond, listen to me.” His own voice was soft, not more than a whisper, but the Half-Elven heard him nonetheless. “You have the power of foresight. What did you see?”

Elrond shook his head in response.

“Nothing.” His voice was weak, and Thranduil could see that even whispering drained him.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. How he wished to have only the faintest light. His keen eyes helped him make out the roughest of shapes in the darkness, but nothing more. Only Elrond seemed to be clear in his vision, and only he seemed to exist in this darkness along with him. 

“Don’t lie to me,” whispered Thranduil. “What did you see?”

But Elrond turned away in order not to look at him, but Thranduil lay a hand on his cheek and slowly turned his face towards him again, his bruised hand comfort to the Half-Elven who relaxed at his touch. 

“In your cell you wanted me to leave without you. Why? Why should I not take you with me?”

Thranduil had to control himself not to raise his voice, but with each spoken word, it became more and more difficult to keep his voice down. 

“I saw you die.”

Elrond’s voice was as loud as a mouse’s feet on soft ground, non-existent to human ears, only audible to them. 

Thranduil saw how hard it was for the Half-Elven to speak those words aloud, and only now Thranduil realized how much his companion had tried to forget the possible future he’d foreseen. 

“That doesn’t matter,” said Thranduil after a while. “What does matter, is how I get you out of here, as quick as possible, and I will, Elrond. I promise. I will get you to safety.”

He looked at the Half-Elven.

“Do you trust me?” 

Elrond nodded and gave Thranduil a weak smile before he attempted to get to his feet. He remained unsteady, and Thranduil offered his shoulder to lean on, to support his friend. Yet new strength seemed to surge through Elrond’s body as if the hope of getting out gave him urged him to go on. 

Thranduil had difficulties remembering the right way, yet he pushed forward and hoped that he was choosing the right paths. He prayed to the Valar of finding the right path in this labyrinth, and he developed a genuine fear of being stuck down here for the rest of his days. Find the exit. Save Elrond. Thranduil repeated these two sentences to himself the entire way, blocking out his own pain and anxiousness. His steps grew heavy though, and Thranduil didn’t know for how long he could still go on. Elrond’s head started to droop, and the Elvenking started to get desperate. 

“Hold on, mellon,” whispered he, hoping to awaken his friend’s senses to keep him conscious.

Suddenly, the tunnels seemed to grow larger, and they didn’t seem as cold as before, but friendlier, and more natural. 

He remembered a phrase someone had once said to him. _Mornie, utùlie. Believe, and you will find your way. Mornie, alantie. A promise lives within you._

And he had made a promise. Of finding Elrond. Of saving him. And he would not let anything stop him - not this darkness, not this place, not the orcs. All that mattered was saving Elrond, he just had to believe in finding light in dark places.

The Half-Elven started to slip from his grasp, but Thranduil gripped him firmer and held him upright - he was close to his goal, he could feel nature blossoming above him, he could feel the sunlight above the clouds and treetops. He was close to leaving this labyrinth, and he’d be able to bring Elrond to his realm, safe from the grasp of the orcs. 

He held the Half-Elven as gently as he could, aware of the fact that he was probably in much worse pain than he was himself. Sometimes, he said a comforting phrase to calm Elrond, for the Half-Elven’s breath was fast and shallow. The effort drained him, and Thranduil wished, with pain in his heart, that he had suffered and the Half-Elven had not. 

Their breaks became longer, as both of them needed time to regain a bit of their strength. More than once, Elrond’s vision nearly faded, but he managed to remain conscious. 

“Take a break,” Elrond said as he stumbled again. But Thranduil didn’t oblige. He remembered these tunnels and how he’d stumbled around, blindly, in the dark, not knowing where he was. 

How he recognized them he didn’t know. Maybe it was only wishful thinking. But if he was right, only one turn and -

“This is it!” He had actually found it. 

Elrond’s breathing was fast, too fast, and Thranduil was now more scared than ever. How long would his friend be able to even walk? Yet, the light grew stronger and brighter until Thranduil was standing where he had entered this place at the beginning. But it was a rather high hole, and they would have to climb.

“Can you-” Thranduil started asking, yet Elrond cut him off. 

“I can.”

How he was still capable of climbing up this hole, Thranduil did not know, and he suspected, neither did Elrond. The Half-Elven was halfway up when the sound of heavy footsteps reached Thranduil’s ears. 

The orcs were coming for them. Thranduil unsheathed his sword and began climbing up behind Elrond, ready to defend them both if needed. He wouldn’t lose, not so close to their escape. 

The orcs would pay for what they’d done to Elrond, and if Thranduil was going to die, then standing, like a true warrior, slain in battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're not out, not yet. Also yes, I quoted Enya's 'May It Be', because I don't know Elvish and I was too lazy to look up any words and grammar in the Elvish books I bought years ago and never opened since. So forgive me for being basic and lazy. Nevertheless, I hope you are doing fine!! See you on Monday with the next chapter.


	12. Free at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of escape.

With his heart racing in his chest, Thranduil observed his friend climb up the ladder, slowly, carefully placing his feet on the steps, trying hard not to slip into unconsciousness and doom the two of them. But deep down, Thranduil wished for Elrond to hurry, because the footsteps of the orcs became louder with each second that passed, and the Elvenking knew that, when they arrived, he would not stand a chance against them.

He repeatedly glanced at Elrond who was climbing heavily and sometimes stopping for a quick break — his movements seemed to become slower and slower with each step. The cave was dark and Thranduil was praying to see sunlight soon. As if on cue, the huge trapdoor above him opened as Elrond managed to climb outside and light flooded into the dark maze. The Half-Elven had made it. 

Without hesitating, Thranduil grabbed the ladder and started climbing up, slowly, careful as to not to make too much noise, even though it didn’t matter anymore. 

They had been spotted anyway, and the orcs would arrive soon and stand their ground against their escape. 

As soon as Elrond let go of the ladder, Thranduil would be able to follow him without any complications, without having to stay in the tunnel and inevitably fight the orcs. He heard the whistle of arrows shooting around him, the release of them, the clatter as they struck the walls and fell to the ground without damaging him. Before he knew it, he was outside already, in the wide open forest, surrounded by the bright light of the sun that was shining through the green leaves of the trees. 

Thranduil’s heart was racing as he looked around for his friend. Where was Elrond? He turned around in a circle to spot him, but couldn’t see him. He didn’t need to worry about the orcs anymore – they were no Uruk-Hai, and thus easily hurt by light. They would stay inside their tunnels as long as the sun was up, which hopefully gave the two elves a chance to get back to safety. He spotted the Half-Elven’s long, brown hair behind a bush that was revealing him as it moved in the wind. For the first time since he’d found him, he could see the injuries he’d obtained while in captivity. 

Elrond looked miserable. 

His hair was all crusty from dried blood which had trickled down the side of his forehead, face and neck. His skin was ripped open in places, revealing spots of light pink skin spotted with dark, red blood. Thranduil knew that those long, open wounds had come from a whip. A cruel way of torturing somebody. His shoulder was swollen, and Elrond was holding his left arm close to his body, an odd position that didn’t allow Thranduil to detect the injury. Riniel would be able to do a far better job. Both elves would have to return to Mirkwood as soon as possible. As fast as possible. Only Thranduil didn’t know how, because Elrond had apparently been sapped of all his strength and could barely sit upright. But they had to try, even if it would be very painful. 

Thranduil didn’t really know how to help his friend. He had supported his weight in the tunnels already, but then he hadn’t been aware of Elrond’s physical injuries. He could feel hot tears in his eyes, but blinked them away. He was a warrior who was stronger than this. He had to help Elrond back to safety. 

“Elrond,” he said softly. The Half-Elven reacted weakly and slowly lifted his gaze up to his saviour’s face. “I will bring you to safety. I promised.”

With those words, Thranduil gently grabbed Elrond by his uninjured shoulder and supported him as much as he could. His own injured rib was burning in his side, and he tried to breathe evenly, which only made it hurt more. 

“You will make it.” His words to the Half-Elven were determined and partly addressed to himself as well. 

Again and again, they had to take breaks. The woods were familiar to the King of the Woodland Realm again, for he recognised every single tree, but Elrond was weak and more than once almost crumpled to the ground if Thranduil had not caught him in time. 

His mind was racing, trying to draw his attention away from the agony in his chest and lungs because he needed to get Elrond to safety. The Half-Elven however, seemed to get heavier with each passing second, and Thranduil knew that he might not have enough strength to get them both to his castle. 

What hurt more than his rib cage, however, was the pitiful sight of Elrond. Seeing his friend suffer this much hurt his heart. He recalled their conversation prior to the Half-Elven’s abduction very vividly, and he was glad that he could at least attempt to make up for his past mistakes of ignorance and hatred and selfishness. 

If Elrond had died, it would have been partly, if not wholly, Thranduil’s fault. The worst part was that Elrond could still die now. The thought of that almost drove him to insanity – he had not gone through hell and back only to let Elrond die. He wouldn’t allow that. He could not. 

The Half-Elven was not capable of properly lifting his feet from the ground anymore. Instead, he was stumbling most of the time and allowed Thranduil to carry him wholly. His mind slipped in and out of consciousness, and his saviour’s whole body was aching. 

Thranduil was grunting with the effort, no longer living up to the gracefulness of elves. At some point, Elrond couldn’t even be carried anymore. His eyes closed and his head sank to his chest, his body completely limp. Thranduil couldn’t hold him anymore and fell with him. The ground beneath them was cold, contrasting Elrond’s glowing hot body. He had a fever, which almost never happened to the immortal elves, who were immune to any illness. This was bad. Very bad. 

Thranduil reached for a pulse and was relieved to find one. It was feeble but steady. 

He had to move on, he couldn’t stop, not now. 

He gritted his teeth and got up, groaning with the effort. He didn’t care about Elrond’s shoulder anymore but grabbed the unconscious Half-Elven by the shoulders and dragged him along. The lack of cooperation made it hard, and Thranduil fell once, twice, but got up again, and again, and kept walking, ignoring the pain in his chest that made his vision go black. They weren’t far away from safety anymore. He could make it. He had to. Not for himself. Not for his ridiculous honour. For Elrond. 

Their pace was slow, and Thranduil knew that he needed to hurry, so he started walking faster. 

The idea seemed smart at first, but later on, as he reflected back on this decision, he knew that he should not have attempted to increase his speed. 

He stumbled over an old tree root and fell awkwardly, trying to catch himself with his hands while also holding Elrond. Whatever he tried to do, it hadn’t worked, as he fell on his already injured rib cage. He let out a huff and bit down on his tongue to stifle a scream that was building up in his throat. His vision flared and he gagged, spitting blood on the ground before him. His ribs hurt more than ever, and he knew, he felt, how the broken bone had entered his lung, puncturing it, leaving him to drown in his blood if he didn’t get help soon. 

Somehow, he managed to get up again and grabbed Elrond by the shoulders, once again. He couldn’t stop the tears – whether, from pain or exhaustion, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was how he would get Elrond to safety. All else didn’t matter. Not anymore. Thranduil could taste the iron in his mouth – his bleeding got worse with each passing second, confirming that his lung had indeed be punctured. Was he going to survive this? 

After what felt like an eternity, Thranduil spotted the castle walls and could have laughed out loud with relief. They had made it. Guards came rushing over as soon as they had seen them.  
“My King!” one of the guards exclaimed as he saw the disgruntled figure of Thranduil. 

“Bring Elrond to Riniel, now!” Thranduil ordered with as much authority as he could muster. 

Four guards carried the Half-Elven into the castle, and Thranduil sank to his knees. 

“Father!” Legolas exclaimed as he rushed over. Thranduil’s vision was going in and out of focus, but the black spots remained and danced, making him nauseous. He closed his eyes and sank forward, but his son’s strong arms caught him and held him, even as he got carried inside.

At some point, he heard a soft voice. It didn’t seem to be spoken aloud, but rather on the inside of his mind. Thranduil didn’t know how or from whence it came, but it was there.  
_Hannon le, Thranduil._

It was Elrond's voice. No doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed today's chapter, I remember having a lot of fun writing it. I would also like to thank everyone for leaving kudos and comments and for simply deciding to read this – I appreciate it a lot! We are now almost halfway through this story, so there is a lot more to come still. Hope you are well, and see you on Thursday with a new chapter!


	13. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil recovers and has a chat with Riniel, his Healer.

As Thranduil opened his eyes, he was instantly blinded with brightness. He blinked several times to get used to the light until he was sure that his eyes could take being open again. So he opened them, suddenly remembering all that had happened beforehand, and he sat up in one quick motion but was stopped by a flaring pain in his chest. He suppressed a groan and slowly lay back down, pressing a hand to his chest. 

He looked down upon his body and saw that his chest was bare, except for the bandages which were covering his pale, pearly skin. Despite the fabric wrapped around his torso, he could still spot the bruises that his skin was covered in. He groaned again and closed his eyes, exhaustion from being awake overwhelming him. He leaned back into the soft pillow beneath his shoulders and was instantly relaxed once more. 

When Thranduil awoke a second time, it was dark all around him, and for a split second, he thought that he was back in the dungeon. But then he saw that the curtains had been pulled aside, revealing the starry sky, and he calmed down again. Like before, he tried to sit up straight but found that he could not. His whole body felt sore, and he felt weirdly detached from it. Exhaustion overcame him again, and he allowed himself to drift off again. 

The muffled sound of voices reached Thranduil’s ears, but despite his keen sense of hearing, he couldn’t make out the separate words, no matter how hard he tried. He focused on ignoring every other noise around him, but an uncomfortable humming sound filled his head as soon as he concentrated too hard. He thus decided to lie down again and to simply rest, for he had a feeling that rest was the one thing his body needed now more than ever. 

After having closed his eyes again, he opened them again, accompanied with a slight groan. He hadn’t been able to stop the noise and he didn’t mind seeming so vulnerable. 

“My Lord Thranduil!” The voice was loud but definitely belonged to an Elf, since it possessed the gracefulness of Elven speech. Thranduil closed his eyes again to get rid of his headache, which was fairly difficult. 

“I am beyond glad to see you awake, my Lord.” The Elf sounded relieved as if he had been worried for long. 

“How is Lord Elrond?” Thranduil croaked. His voice sounded the way his rib cage felt. It had taken him a lot of courage to ask that question because, in truth, he was scared of hearing the answer. He looked at the Elf standing next to his bed and smiled as he saw the elegant features of Riniel, his best Healer, whose warm, brown eyes looked down upon him, a slight frown on his face. The Healer sighed.

“He has not woken up yet, my Lord. He received some very bad blows upon his head, so he needs some more days to fully heal and adjust. His collarbone is broken as well, hence the weird positioning of his arm and head, as you arrived here. The cuts on his body are not life-threatening, but agonisingly painful. We are treating him with a rather powerful salve to decrease the pain, and some of the cuts have nicely healed into pale scars already.”

Thranduil let out a huff, embracing the feeling of relief that was washing over him. 

“He is going to be alright again, Riniel?” the King asked and smiled as the Healer nodded slightly. 

“Can I see him?” He didn’t ask about when he could see him, because he wanted, needed, to see him right this moment. But Riniel shook his head, obviously aware that his response was not what Thranduil had hoped for. 

“You need rest, my Lord,” he said, bowing low. 

Despite his own pain, Thranduil didn’t want to give up. He tried to sit up straight yet again and would have succeeded, if Riniel hadn’t gently pushed him down, forcing him to remain on the bed.

“My Lord! Your broken rib punctured your lung, and you are not yet ready to stand up.”

Thranduil shook his head.  
“I do not need rest anymore, Riniel,” he objected. “I need to get up.”

“What you need, my Lord, is for your body to heal.”

“No, Riniel, I command you to let me go.”

“My Lord, I cannot possibly allow that.”

“Yes, you will. It is an order.”

“And I order you to stay in bed.”

Thranduil let out a laugh. Despite the fact that he was the King, he appreciated that Riniel took his position as Healer so seriously. Standing up against your King was a challenging thing to do, and Riniel mastered it perfectly. 

“Very well, Riniel.” He let himself sink back into the pillow.

“If you try to get up, I will have to tie you to your bed.”

“Do not push it too far, Riniel. I am still your King.” 

Riniel made a face, knowing perfectly well that his King was joking. It was a rare occurrence, and Riniel was glad to have a King like Thranduil. He trusted him and knew that the trust was mutual. 

Seconds seemed to go by like hours. Hours seemed to go by like days. Thranduil was getting more and more impatient – he had never been the kind of Elf to only lie around. He did sit around on his throne a lot, but that was hardly the same. Now, he wasn’t even allowed to properly do his work as King. 

Despite knowing that Elrond would heal in no time, he still felt the need to go up and just be there. He made a decision: he would visit Elrond that night, whether Riniel wanted him to or not. 

As the darkness settled in, Thranduil slowly set up, allowing his fractured bones to adjust to the new position. The movement still hurt, but it was bearable, much less painful than it had been before. He breathed in and out, taking his time so as to not hurt himself. He knew Riniel would be furious, but there was nothing and nobody who could stop him now. His breathing was still rather shallow, but he shrugged it off – his lung had been injured after all. 

He had not the slightest idea about Elrond’s whereabouts, but he couldn’t be far away. The Healing station was not that vast, despite the dangers that lurked in the forest. Thranduil’s soldiers were exceptionally skilled and were not often injured. Mostly because they also stayed out of danger and wars. Thranduil cringed at that thought. 

He slowly opened a few doors, took a glance around the room and silently closed them again when Elrond wasn’t inside. 

At last, he discovered the room and the person he had been looking for. He took a quick glance around himself and felt ridiculous sneaking around in his own Kingdom. He quietly closed the door behind him and approached the still figure on the white bed. Elrond looked peaceful – his head was wrapped in a white bandage, and his arm was in a sling, lying against his chest. 

Thranduil couldn’t ignore the feeling of guilt that was building up in his chest, that he’d been trying to push away ever since the Half-Elven had disappeared. 

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil mumbled.  
He didn’t know whether Elrond could hear him or not.

“I should have found you sooner. I should have reacted sooner, listened to you. I ought not have let you go. _Goheno nin._ ”

Again, he heard Elrond’s voice in his head, loud and clear. 

“ _Hannon le._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and thank you so much for reading this new chapter! First off, I want to apologise for not posting last Thursday – I was rather busy at home, but now it has all calmed down a bit. I was also binge-watching The Good Place, so that didn't help as a reminder to update the story. Also, this chapter was frustrating to write, because my laptop kept changing Riniel to Daniel. Should I have called him Daniel? Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for more, coming on Thursday.


	14. Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil visits Elrond, who has yet to heal.

Thranduil smiled. He didn’t know how or why, but somehow, Elrond managed to communicate with him without really saying anything. He didn’t know how it worked, but it warmed his heart in a weird way. In a good way. There was some sort of connection between them that he did not yet fully grasp. 

He pulled a chair towards the bed and sat down, careful not to make any sudden noise. Sitting was not much more comfortable than standing, but he forced himself to endure it. Seeing Elrond had been his aim, and he would not drown in self-pity now. He focused on his breathing for a minute, to allow his lung to settle down until he took a closer look at Elrond, who was lying motionless. Only the movement of his chest with each breath indicated that he was alive. 

He made an effort to hold back his tears, but one of them still trickled down his cheeks. 

He wasn’t sad, but furious. There was nothing more that he could do, not after freeing Elrond from the orcs. 

He was neither a Healer nor was he a warrior. 

Despite freeing Elrond from the tunnels, he felt like he had done close to nothing. If he had been a more responsible leader in the first place, all of this might not even have happened. Right now, however, all he could do was wait. And he was willing to wait for his friend to wake up. It might only take a few more minutes, or hours, days, weeks even. 

Thranduil moved his chair a bit so he could sit closer to the bed. The door was firmly shut, and Thranduil wouldn’t have minded if it were open, for he did not care if anyone caught him here. 

If Riniel were to detect him here, so be it. Thranduil would not leave Elrond’s side, not before the Half-Elven awoke. He sighed. He closed his eyes because he was tired, a feeling he was not used to as an Elf. 

He didn’t like to admit it, but Riniel had been right when he advised Thranduil to rest some more. The Elven King hadn’t even known why he had so desperately needed to pay Elrond a visit. 

Before Elrond’s disappearance, Thranduil had never truly minded his presence or absence, for he’d never cared much for the Half-Elven. If he was honest with himself, he had never liked Elrond, for their opinions on many, if not all, matters had always been the exact opposites. Why did he care so much now, then? Maybe he liked the Half-Elven more than he had allowed himself before. Maybe they were meant to be friends after all, instead of rivals or enemies. 

The Elf smiled in the dark as he observed the mere shadow of his friend as he was sitting at his side for hours. The only source of light were the innumerable, shining stars as well as the bright moon, that spread its silver shimmer across the wide night sky and into the room. 

After a few moments of hesitating, Thranduil reached for Elrond’s hand that lay still upon the white sheets. It was cold and the skin was covered in thin scars. He softly caressed the back of Elrond’s hand with his thumb, tracing the fine silver lines that had yet to fully heal. 

“ _Mellon_ ,” Thranduil mumbled and was well aware of the lump in his throat. It gave him the feeling that he was suffocating, and he didn’t know how to get rid of it. He took a deep breath to compose himself but flinched at the pain he felt. 

“You need to wake up.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper. “Do you hear me? You need to wake up.”

He blinked several times to get rid of his tears.

“Wake up,” he repeated. “Please.”

His last words got stuck in his throat and came out as a sob. He let the tears run down his cheek and did not attempt to stop them. He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, simply holding the Half-Elven’s hand. It felt good to let out his emotions instead of keeping his stoic composure as he always did as King. Now he was not a King. He was a friend who worried. 

At some point during the night, he fell asleep without even realising it. He had the feeling of floating in the dark as a long slumber overwhelmed him. His weightless body was surrounded by both darkness and light, if that was even possible. He didn’t know how. He wandered around in the shadows, not knowing where to go. Was he lost? He slowly walked around, trying to find a path. For a split second, he feared to be back in the underground labyrinth again – he could almost hear the orcs again, feel his injuries, but it was all quiet around him. There was…nothing around him.

He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet, nor could he detect any walls or trees or bushes around him, no matter how far he reached out with his hands. He was barefoot, only wearing a thin cloth around his waist that did not protect him from the cold, against which he was usually immune. Everything was quiescent. Except for…a voice, a faint voice from afar, that seemed to be calling out for him. 

He turned around, trying to decipher whence it came, for he wanted to find it. Wanted to find the source, the origin of the voice. He couldn’t hear what it was saying, and he wanted to reply, wanted to ask who it was, but no matter how hard he tried, not one sound escaped his lips. The void closed in around him and so did the voice.

When he opened his eyes, suddenly realising whose voice it had been, he was startled as his own blue eyes met brown eyes which were fixed upon his face.  
Elrond was awake. 

Thranduil could hardly believe his eyes, despite knowing that Elrond was healing slowly, as Riniel had confirmed. It was, however, a joy to look upon his friend’s conscious figure again. The door opened and Riniel entered, taken aback by the sight that greeted him. 

“My Lord!” he gasped, followed by Thranduil’s shrug. “I told you to stay in bed!”

His face was neutral, but the tone of his words was not and triggered a childish laugh inside of Thranduil. What was the Healer going to do, anyway? He could not do more than reprimand him – Riniel was, despite his status as Healer, below Thranduil in rank, and would not dare order his King to leave. 

“Leave, now,” Riniel said sternly and glared at Thranduil, who was taken aback by the challenge of authority. 

“”No, I–”

“Leave me with Lord Elrond. Go back to your chamber.” 

Thranduil shrugged and got up to leave, trying hard not to wince. Riniel noticed – his smug grin told him so. 

The King was deeply embarrassed and felt that Riniel was inappropriately rude, but was going to follow his order anyway, to save the last bit of dignity that he still had left. Before he closed the door behind himself, he turned around to get a last quick glance at Elrond, whose eyes had followed his every step. His gaze told him a million words, but most of all, Thranduil saw how grateful the Half-Elven was. 

And he saw more. Affection. Sympathy. 

The Elven-king smiled as he strolled back to his room, relieved that his movements had regained more of his usual Elven grace. 

Back in his own chamber, he let himself sink onto his bed, embracing the softness of the cushions and sheets. What stayed, however, was his smile. Elrond would be fully healthy again. Relief washed through him and he appreciated that feeling after days of anguish. 

More thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, though. He still had no idea why he suddenly had the ability to hear Elrond’s voice in his head. It was nothing he had ever heard of, and it was an understatement to say that he was overwhelmed. 

He did, however, appreciate it, for Elrond’s voice made him feel closer to the Half-Elven. As soon as he was back to his full strength, he would enlighten himself on it and find out why. Maybe it had all been part of his imagination, although he doubted it. There was undoubtedly a connection between them – and Thranduil would find out what it was.

In the meantime, Riniel had appeared on the threshold to his room, looking furious. He scolded his King for his irresponsible behaviour, while Thranduil, in turn, waited for him to finish.  
“Riniel, I–”

“I’m not finished yet,” the Healer replied, immediately silencing his King. “I apologise if you think I am disrespecting your authority as King, my Lord. That is not my intention. However, I must say that I am utterly disappointed in you. You disobeyed a direct order.”

“Riniel, let me apologise. I am aware that I disrespected your orders. _Goheno nin_ , Riniel.”

The Healer looked at him a while longer and almost proceeded to reprimand Thranduil, but the latter broke into a wide smile, startling Riniel. 

“My Lord, you are making fun of me!”

“Yes, I am indeed,” Thranduil smiled. 

“Rest. And by that, I also mean that you should stay in your own chamber.”

Thranduil nodded, amused. His amusement vanished, however, as Riniel continued speaking.

“And I order you to rest for at least three days.”

Thranduil would have screamed if it had gotten him anywhere. Instead, he forced himself to remain calm as a King would do. 

The first half hour was already so boring, Thranduil felt as if he was on the verge of madness. He could not even follow his royal duties, as Legolas had taken them over. 

Despite feeling well-rested and healed, Thranduil remained in bed with nothing to do. Riniel did not even allow him to read, because “reading is not resting”. Thranduil was sure that Riniel had only made that up, wanting to punish him for not listening and obeying earlier. 

The sunlight shone into the room and was reflected off the white walls. The boring wooden wardrobe stood in a corner of the chamber, and Thranduil was forced to look at it all day long. He made his Kingdom a silent promise: once he was out of the hospital ward, he would bring some colour into the different chambers. 

Only sometimes did Riniel visit him. Legolas came by daily to report his duties to his father and could never stay long. He did very well, and Thranduil was not surprised at his son’s skills at leadership. He would make an excellent King one day, and this was a good way to prove so. 

Although Legolas had never truly been interested in leading his Kingdom but rather fight alongside…dwarves, Thranduil was proud of his son. Until Elrond went back to Imladris, Thranduil would take some time to rest and recover, even though he was sure he did not need more time. 

The thought of Elrond leaving made his chest hurt, and it was not because of his injury. He could not detect the cause of the pain, didn’t know where it came from. He felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore, at least not properly. Maybe he only needed some fresh air. Despite Riniel’s orders, Thranduil got out of bed and went to sit on a bench outside, where he remained until the pain in his chest had subsided. He wasn’t sure why he felt this way about Elrond’s farewell. 

As he heard light footsteps behind him, he turned around. For a split second, he thought it was Elrond, whom the brown hair could have belonged to. But it was Riniel who looked at him, curiously, kowingly.

“I thought you might want to see Lord Elrond.”

“I am allowed to see him?”

Riniel only nodded and Thranduil was on his feet in less than a second. The Healer called after him, but Thranduil didn’t listen anymore. 

His heart was racing as he arrived at the door to Elrond’s chamber. He was completely out of breath, which was unusual for an Elf. As he opened the door, all his concerns seemed to vanish into thin air, for Elrond was sitting upright in his bed, back leaning against the wall The Half-Elven smiled as Thranduil entered and closed the door behind him.

“I knew you would come,” Elrond smiled.

Thranduil blushed all so slightly, and pretended to make sure that the door was safely closed. An unnecessary precaution. 

“Riniel even allowed me to.”

Elrond laughed, but quickly began to cough and winced. 

“Are you alright?”

The Half-Elven nodded and readjusted his position. 

“I saw you come. In one of my visions.”

Thranduil didn’t know what to reply to that, so he remained silent. 

“Are you alright?”

“Me?” Thranduil was surprised. “Yes, I am. Don’t worry about me, I’d rather worry about you, for you were in a much worse condition than I was.”

“I am alright again, thanks to Riniel. He excels at what he does.”

“He can be quite stern and stubborn.”

“That I witnessed.”

Elrond smiled at Thranduil, before both Elves broke into laughter. It felt unfamiliar, as the last proper encounter had been their official meeting in the throne room. But it also felt familiar, as if it had supposed to be like this for a long, long time. 

Thranduil stayed for a few hours. It was a good feeling to be so close and yet not in danger. As Riniel entered the chamber in the evening to tell Thranduil it was time for him to leave, arguing that Lord Elrond needed rest, the Elven King was deeply disappointed. He could have stayed for the night. More importantly, he _would_ have stayed for the night. However, he knew of Riniel’s talents and trusted him. 

Even though he didn’t like to admit it, Thranduil still needed some rest to fully heal. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t yet stay up for too long, let alone a whole night. He would have done it if it hadn’t been for Riniel. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly cared so much about Elrond, and he lay awake thinking about him for hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the new chapter! I didn't update yesterday, simply because I wasn't at home at all (don't worry, I was social-distancing the whole time while also wearing a mask). I hope you liked today's chapter, and I also hope that you like Riniel – he is the first Elvish character I ever created and I have to admit that it's a lot of fun writing him. Hope you feel the same while reading. See you on Monday with a new chapter! (and I promise, I won't forget this time)


	15. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond wants to fight in the upcoming battle, and has a talk with Thranduil.

Days went by, and it seemed like an eternity to Thranduil until Elrond was released from the healing ward at last. All the Mirkwood Elves that had been concerned about the Half-Elven were relieved and joyful as they saw him wander around their hallways again and smile as he stepped into the sunlight. They welcomed him in good moods, and Elrond appreciated their hospitality, despite feeling weary and tired. 

The Elves had wanted to celebrate, for they were all gay to see him well again, but the Half-Elven politely excused himself and left early to go back to his chambers. Thranduil followed him as soon as Elrond had left and soon caught up to him.

“How are you?” he asked. He didn’t want to pry but only wanted to make sure that his guest was well and comfortable. 

It felt nice walking next to one another again. They had never done it, not even before the misery Elrond had been put through, and Thranduil regretted his feud with the Half-Elven. 

If he was honest with himself, Thranduil had to admit that he saw Elrond more and more as a friend, and each second he spent with him only confirmed his feelings towards him, and most importantly, encouraged those emotions, for Elrond seemed to reciprocate them. It was strange to freely admit his friendship with Elrond after years of arguing back and forth, but the Half-Elven had grown on him.

There was a connection between the two of them that ultimately tied them together, a connection which had not been there prior to Elrond’s disappearance. It was a connection Thranduil had never had to another Elf ever before. Only his wife. Admitting that he felt as connected to Elrond as he had for his late wife was strange and almost unbearable – it made him uncomfortable to think about it, even though all he did was think about it. 

Another mystery was how he could hear Elrond’s voice in his head. Thranduil still wasn’t sure if that was only an occurrence in his dreams and imagination, or if it had really happened. He didn’t know how to address the subject without feeling utterly embarrassed, vulnerable, and awkward. Bringing up a supposed telepathic connection made Thranduil feel very uncomfortable, so he shook his head as if that would help him get rid of his thoughts. It didn’t. 

Elrond, in the meantime, kept expressing his thanks and gratefulness to Thranduil, who had told him multiple times that it had been his duty. 

“A smart leader once told me that I am part of this world and that I’m needed to change this world to the better.”

Elrond smiled at those words. 

The Half-Elven told Thranduil about what Urtak had let him know in the underground tunnels and he didn’t spare any detail. Thranduil shuddered at what he learned and was utterly terrified that, out of all creatures, an orc had come up with such a devious plan. 

Why the orc-tribe had decided to remain near Thranduil’s realm, the Elvenking didn’t know. However, they now knew where they lured and could thus easily find them and go for the kill. The Elves had the advantage in this situation, and Thranduil was proud to declare groups of Elves to scavenge the woods and report any orcish activity. 

Both Elves said down on the bed which was positioned in the corner of the spacious and illuminated room – Thranduil had made sure that Elrond received the room with the most windows, for he figured that the Half-Elven needed the light after having spent days underground. 

All the curtains had been taken down, Thranduil’s orders, and the Elvenking hoped that his friend was grateful. Maybe he even hoped that the Half-Elven was a little bit proud of the change he was forcing himself through after Elrond had opened his eyes about the world. 

Elrond smiled.

“I really appreciate the sunlight.”

Thranduil nodded understandingly, having anticipated the other’s emotions perfectly. He himself felt that way too, although he’d only been in the tunnels for less than a day. He could only imagine how Elrond felt. He didn’t want to imagine. 

Elrond looked much better than after he’d rescued him. The scars still remained but healed quickly, thanks to Riniel, but some might even stay for the rest of his eternal life, despite the Healer's talent and patience. The Half-Elven still wore his arm in a bandage, holding it tightly against his chest in order to let his collarbone rest and heal properly. Nevertheless, Elrond didn’t show any signs of trauma and, for most of the time, acted as if the whole incident had never happened. 

As Thranduil noticed Elrond’s smile, he suddenly became very aware that he’d been looking at the Half-Elven for a long time without saying anything. He hastily looked away, but still caught the grin that Elrond gave him. 

“I will make the orcs pay,” Thranduil said after some time, having waited until Elrond’s grin disappeared. He had wanted to say these words for a long time now and was glad when he finally did. “I will kill them all and they will wish they had never touched you in the first place.”

Elrond looked at the ground, not knowing how to respond, for the anger in Thranduil’s voice was clearly discernible. If he was honest with himself, he also wanted to repay them, to take revenge for all they had done to him in the time they’d held him captured. All orcs deserved to die – there was no good in them, they were monsters, and Elrond had never felt so much hatred than he did at that moment. 

“I don’t want you to endanger yourself,” he responded calmly, and most importantly, he meant it. 

Thranduil had already risked his life, Elrond did not want him to risk it again. If the Elvenking did indeed perish while trying to avenge Elrond, the Half-Elven would never be able to forgive himself, for he had been the one to carelessly wander around a forest alone, unaware of the danger lurking around him. 

“I cannot, and I will not ignore the orc-tribe, Elrond!” Thranduil protested. “I…I want them to regret what they’ve done to you…I want them to be sorry, to ask for mercy, and I want to be the one to give them death, for I am the King of Mirkwood!”

His voice broke and he hastily looked away, not wanting to appear weak. Elrond, however, stood there, his mouth agape, his gaze fixed on Thranduil. A faint smile tugged at his lips and his eyes shimmered mischievously and were full of admiration.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I ever doubted you as King.”

He didn’t know what more to say, for he was happy that Thranduil cared so much all of a sudden. It was a whole new side to the Elvenking, and Elrond was glad that the King had finally allowed it to surface. 

“I don’t want to be weak. I need to be a strong leader, which I am now, but have seldom been before. You were right. It is time for me to become the King I have always been meant to be.” Thranduil’s voice was no more than a whisper.

“You are not weak. If you were, I wouldn’t be here. But I am.”

Thranduil looked at his friend and smiled, appreciating his presence more with each second that passed. 

Only a few days after their conversation would a group of Elves leave the Halls of Mirkwood and find the orcs and their den. Thranduil had given orders not to spare any orc, while he would accompany them and leave Elrond behind. He knew exactly where to find them, and after some mishaps, he didn’t want his soldiers to go there alone.

“I’m coming,” Elrond declared as he entered Thranduil’s chambers. 

“I know that you don’t wish to stay behind,” the Elvenking sighed, but he couldn’t allow Elrond to leave the safety of Mirkwood yet – the Half-Elven was stubborn and insisted on accompanying him, not acknowledging the faint remnants of his injuries that had still to heal and fade completely.

Riniel had explained multiple times that his condition had not improved enough yet, with a glance to Thranduil’s own ribs, which also still had to heal. But since Thranduil was the King, he commanded Riniel to back down, which the Healer eventually, and reluctantly, did. 

If Elrond died, however, Thranduil would never be able to forgive himself, for the Lord had already endured too much instead of enjoying Thranduil’s hospitality. The Elvenking could not, and would not, make that fatal mistake again. 

“I am coming!” Elrond repeated, not even trying to hide the anger in his voice. “You cannot keep me here.”

“You know that I can very well do that, my friend,” Thranduil replied. “And you know very well that I will, if you insist on disobeying my orders.”

“Never was I told that your realm is a prison.”

“It is not.” Thranduil sighed. “I value your safety, more than ever after endangering you. I can’t let you go.”

“Yes, you can. You’re the King, I’d say you’re in charge of making decisions.”

Elrond sat down on Thranduil’s bed, looking up at his friend who was frowning down upon him.

“Thranduil, I cannot stay here while you endanger yourself, not again. I don’t want to be responsible for any more of your injuries, or your death, even. Not after endangering you already and being used as a pawn to lure you straight to where the orcs were laying low. I will not allow that to happen.”

“You have been through enough already since your arrival. Riniel said that you still need to heal, and I will not simply shrug off his medical advice.”

“You did so in order to visit me.”

Thranduil threw his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated.

“Fine. I will talk to him again. But I cannot promise if he’ll allow you to go.”

“Whatever his answer is, I am coming. I have not fought in previous wars only to be ordered to stay in bed now.”

“How can you be even more stubborn than a dwarf?”

"Their temper might have influenced me quite a bit when I offered them refuge, many years ago."

"Thank the Valar I imprisoned those exact dwarves, then."

Elrond shrugged and smiled, and Thranduil couldn’t help but smile back. 

Thranduil couldn’t deny that it felt weird spending so much time with Elrond. A good kind of weird, though. 

He often thought back to their first meeting here, where Thranduil had been extremely arrogant, which he regretted now. He’d known that he wasn’t being the King he wanted and needed to be, and he remembered the feeling of rage as Elrond lectured him about his duties, ignoring the fact that the Half-Elven was completely right with what he said. It seemed weird recalling how he’d felt that day, because the anger both men had felt towards each other could be felt in the air between them, seemingly physically present and able to grasp with bare hands. 

But every time Thranduil looked at the Half-Elven after having saved him, he couldn’t fathom ever disliking him again. It physically hurt thinking back to how injured Elrond had been because of Thranduil’s ignorance, and the Elven-King didn’t try hiding the fear of seeing Elrond injured again. Never before had he felt this way about someone, except for…his late wife. 

Oh! how Thranduil missed her – the void in his heart had always been a pain, but as he sat there, laughing with Elrond, the abyss within him seemed to be less deep and less painful. He felt utterly uncomfortable thinking the way he did, but he also did not refrain from spending time with the Half-Elven. Maybe it was weird, but a good kind of weird, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. 

At some point, Elrond had left, too impatient to wait for Thranduil to talk to Riniel, taking it upon himself to argue with the Healer. 

Thranduil was still sitting on the Half-Elven’s bed, impatient for his return, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt, nervous, restless. It was a conflicting situation, for part of him wanted Elrond to fight by his side, since he knew how good a warrior he was. But the other part of him was scared of anything happening to the Half-Elven. He did not want to lose him, not after coming so close to it before. 

After a while, Elrond came back, looking frustrated still, but less than before. 

“He’ll consider it again,” he said and sat down on the bed, a few inches away from Thranduil, who turned his head to look at him, frowning.

“That means he will keep me here,” Elrond sighed.

Thranduil saw how belittled the Half-Elven felt and guilt conquered him, knowing well that Elrond was a warrior they would not want to spare in a possible battle. 

“What even is his issue?” Elrond went on, his arms crossed. “I can move perfectly well, I am not in pain anymore and very capable of fighting.”

“What do you want me to do, then?” Thranduil asked softly, not pleased with seeing his friend so upset. 

It had already been a lot of work to persuade Riniel to let Thranduil go, and he had been off far better than Elrond. Whenever it came to healing, Riniel was not joking around, for he took it very seriously, as he should. Thranduil knew that and was aware of his Healer’s responsibilities, but for once, he wished that he’d lay off a little. 

“You can do two things,” Elrond suggested and Thranduil looked at him to listen.

“You can either go to him and convince him that I’m well enough to fight, like you told me you would do anyway,” Elrond said, his voice determined. “You’re his King, he can’t disobey a direct order.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Thranduil took a deep breath and continued, “But what if he does not obey?”

“Do I seriously have to teach you how to be a King?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“What is the second thing I can do?”

“Distract me. Cheer me up. One of those two, or both.”

“How do you want me to do that?”

Elrond looked unsure for a brief second, and Thranduil noticed the insecurity on his face, anticipating what would happen next. 

“Like this,” Elrond said, and moved closer to him.

Both Elves were sitting so closely together now – their shoulders were touching, letting the thin hairs on Thranduil’s arm stand up in anticipation. Small lightning bolts seemed to travel through his body into his chest, making breathing much more difficult than it should have been. His breath came out uneven, and his heart fluttered in his chest as the Half-Elven’s face came nearer to his until they could feel each other’s breath on their skin. Thranduil’s lips began to tremble slightly, wanting this, but too insecure to act upon it. 

As he felt Elrond’s lips touch his, the whole world around him stood still, with him and the Half-Elven the only beings in existence. 

The Elven-King felt as if his whole body was on fire as the two men had their lips pressed onto each other. The only thing that mattered were the two of them, them kissing. 

Despite the strangeness of the situation, it felt right, and Thranduil’s heart threatened to pump right through his chest as Elrond placed a hand behind Thranduil’s head, softly caressing his blond hair, while the other hand rested on his chest, feeling how fast his heart was beating. Elrond’s own heart felt like it was going to explode at any second, and Thranduil smiled as he felt and heard their hearts beat in unison. Never would he have dared to think that he’d ever want this. But he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome back for this week's fluff. At this point, I don't even know what my writing style is anymore, because I've read way too many classics to stick to my old style. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the fluff (I really loved writing it, and building up to it, and I didn't know how to end the chapter, but decided not to do a cliffhanger, thank me later). I tried to keep it lighthearted (for now), because 1) balance between action and peace, and 2) there is enough action in this world right now, I for one needed some peace. Enough of the talk, see you on Thursday! :)


	16. Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just feelings and fluff.

A day had gone by since Elrond had kissed Thranduil. Both Elves hadn’t spoken to each other since, which was not the result of them feeling uncomfortable around each other – on the contrary. 

However, Thranduil was troubled deep within, for the Elvenking did not truly know what to think of the evolution of their relationship. He did not want to pretend like he didn’t enjoy it, because he did, truly, madly, deeply, he did enjoy it and he wanted to do it again. 

But he kept thinking of his wife, and felt as if he was cheating on her even though she was long gone, and he felt like he was replacing her, even though that wasn’t true. And despite the many thousand years that he had spent in Middle-Earth, he had never kissed a male Elf – he’d never even considered it, until now. Now, kissing Elrond was the only thing that he was capable of thinking about. Thranduil had a feeling that, even though the Half-Elven would refuse to admit it, Elrond felt the same. 

Despite the mixture of feelings they both felt, they didn’t use that as a reason not to meet. The main reason was that they were actively planning the attack on the orcs – they had to proceed strategically if they wanted to succeed, so they invested a lot of time in thoroughly and meticulously planning every single detail of their plan. 

First, they had to find the lair, the underground maze, where the tribe of orcs resided. That first task alone would already be difficult enough, despite Thranduil having been there already. But as he had discovered the den, he had experienced a massive amount of adrenaline, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he knew the exact way anymore, considering that he had merely followed the easily detectable footprints of the orcs that had attacked him. Besides, he’d been injured and not consciously keeping track of where he was in the forest, and he cursed himself for his inattentiveness. Moreover, he’d been deeply concerned about Elrond, so, considering the circumstances, his predicament had been very different from the current one. 

Upon finding the labyrinth, they would descend into it, one by one, and navigate through it. That second part would most likely be the hardest one. Even though none of them would be on their own, as Thranduil had been, Elves were not made to wander around underground without the guidance of the sun, moon or stars. Some of the Elves secretly muttered about being scared, and Thranduil couldn’t blame any of them – he, too, had been afraid, and he still was, even though as King, he couldn’t admit that. 

Elrond didn’t utter any voice of concern – in fact, he remained stout and brave, taking it upon himself to encourage those who were not so sure about whether or not they wanted to embark on this quest alongside their King. After having been freed, Elrond often talked openly about how he wanted to avenge what the orcs did to him – after having kissed Thranduil, the Elven-King wasn’t so sure if it was only out of anger, but also affection toward him. 

One of Thranduil’s soldiers was talking to him, gesturing to the map in front of him, but he didn’t listen. His mind wandered back to the previous day, to the bed on which they’d sat, and the tingly feeling threatened to overwhelm him again. 

Legolas entered the chamber and instantly brought Thranduil back to reality who turned around to greet his son, glad for an excuse not to answer the question he hadn’t heard. Thranduil was shocked at the sight of his son – his usual gracefulness was not present, but he looked rather tired and almost stumbled on the doorstep. 

“Still no sign of the orcs, father,” he reported, bowing to his father and king. 

“When did you and your men last rest?” Thranduil asked.

“A few days ago. We’ve been seeking the orcs’ den almost every minute of every day.”

“Take a break. You could’ve, should’ve, allowed you and your men to rest more. Go, take some time off. I, no, we, will need you soon, once we find the place where they’re hiding.”

“But–"

“No. Go. Rest. That is an order from your commander.” Thranduil looked from his son to the empty door frame through which he had entered. Legolas sighed, but finally bowed, turned around and left, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

Thranduil let out a long sigh. The whole affair with the orcs was draining him of his strength – obviously, he wanted to destroy the orc-tribe that had settled down in Mirkwood, but he was scared as well, for those orcs were unlike any other orcs he’d ever fought against. 

And like many of his soldiers, he was scared too of fighting underground. Not again. One time had been enough already, and he didn’t wish to revisit that again. What bothered him more than anything else, though, was the fact that he didn’t want anyone he cared about to be injured. If Riniel allowed Elrond to accompany them, Thranduil would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to the Half-Elven. Worry for Legolas, his son and only heir, also took hold of him – after him being part of the Fellowship of the Ring, Thranduil knew exactly what his son was capable of, but wanted to look out for him, despite the thousands of years Legolas had already been by his father’s side. 

The Elven-King couldn’t forbid any of them to fight, for they were great warriors whom he needed if he wanted victory against the orcs. Besides, Elrond had already made his decision, and Thranduil doubted that he could do anything to keep him away from the fight. 

Some time later, Thranduil was sitting alone in his room, studying the map of Mirkwood in front of him. They had finally been able to locate the den of the orcs – though they weren’t completely sure if they had marked the exact place, they were fairly convinced that the area which they had marked was the one they would go to, weapons ready to strike. 

He flinched as the door suddenly opened, not expecting anyone at this late hour. It was Elrond, and at the sight of him, Thranduil briefly relaxed in his chair before jumping to his feet, not knowing what to do.

“We’re leaving early in the morning, two days from now,” Elrond declared and closed the door behind him.

“We?” Thranduil’s voice sounded surprised, even though the Elven-King had expected Elrond to come along.

“Of course.”

“Did you talk to Riniel?”

“No.”

“But you’re coming anyway?”

“Yes.” Elrond grinned mischievously and Thranduil shook his head, but couldn’t manage to hold back a smile at the Half-Elven’s stubbornness. 

“You did not truly think I would let you go alone?”

“I’m not alone.” 

Elrond gave him a reproachful look.

“But, no, I did not think that.”

Elrond slowly approached him, his gaze lingering on Thranduil’s pale blue eyes. The Half-Elven didn’t have a hard time detecting the anxiety in the King’s eyes – a feeling he was all too familiar with himself. It was normal to feel that way the night before a battle, and it was a necessity – otherwise they’d storm into battle feeling bold and reckless, which was always the downfall of many a soldier. It took Thranduil some time to open up about his feelings, and when he did, Elrond nodded understandingly.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, either,” the Half-Elven said, gently taking Thranduil’s hands in his, gently caressing the smooth skin with his thumb.

“But we’re fighters, and we have to do this. For the sake of Mirkwood, for the sake of Middle-Earth.”

Thranduil nodded, his grip slightly tightening on Elrond’s hands. 

“You should get some rest, you will need your strength the following days,” Thranduil said, letting Elrond’s hands go and instantly missing the physical touch. 

“So should you,” Elrond replied softly, his voice merely a whisper. 

He reached out with his right hand and cupped it around Thranduil’s face which was full of emotion, unlike his usual stoic expression. He closed the distance between their faces and kissed his King, pressing his lips onto Thranduil’s, relishing the softness and low moan that escaped the Elven-King. It felt like the kiss had lasted an eternity, but when it ended, Thranduil wanted to do it again, and again, but Elrond had already distanced himself from him and was now quietly opening the door.

“Good night,” he said, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back! I hope you enjoyed today's episode of fluff. I have to admit, I initially struggled writing about their feelings (especially Thranduil's), because I'm just basing this off my personal experiences (basically a lot of awkwardness and tip-toeing around each other because how do normal people behave in same-sex relationships???). Of course, everyone experiences that differently, so my apologies if it seems way too awkward (especially for the next chapters). Anyway, that's a PSA nobody asked for. See you on Monday!


	17. Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Thranduil talk, and soon, they will be going after the orcs.

The next day, Thranduil woke up with new strength, which only seemed to increase even more as the door to his chambers opened and a familiar face glanced up at him. Elrond looked well-rested, and at the sight of him, Thranduil’s heart started to race, accompanied by the now already familiar tingly feeling in his body. He didn’t bother to suppress the smile that emerged on his face, for he wouldn’t have been able to hide it anyway. 

It was weird feeling the way he did about a male Elf – there was nothing wrong about it, and he knew that some Elves, though few in numbers, were attracted to both male and female, although it had never occurred to him that he was one of them. He had only ever been in love once, with his wife, who had left this world many, many years ago. Maybe he should consider talking about this to Elrond, who was, after all, the only person he could confide in. 

The Half-Elven sat down beside Thranduil, sensing what the Elven-King was thinking.

“Elrond…,” Thranduil began, but hesitated.

“I know what you want to say,” Elrond said, not allowing Thranduil to gather his thoughts. The King raised an eyebrow, though not at all surprised that the Half-Elven had sensed his emotions. Maybe he’d even had a vision of this very conversation already, which was unnerving – Thranduil could never know what the Half-Elven knew prior to the events happening. Had he seen them kiss before? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts, for they were not helping his nerves. 

“You want to talk about you, and me. Us.”

Thranduil nodded, not knowing what he should say. After a while, he whispered, unsure of how he should phrase it:

“I don’t know how all of this could happen.”

“What do you mean, ‘all of this’”?

“This. You and me,” Thranduil explained and leaned forward to kiss Elrond, who parted his lips only a bit, his eyes closed, holding his breath. A shiver went down Thranduil’s spine, and the thin hairs at the nape of his neck stood up, and he shivered, not of the cold, though. 

“Is it not good for you?” Elrond asked, his voice full of worry.

“Of course it is!” Thranduil replied harshly. “This is…great, but completely new for me. I like being with you, I truly, deeply do. My affection for you is greater than I could have ever imagined.”

Elrond stared at him, his face compassionate. He didn’t pressure him to continue, but let him do it on his own accord.

“This has never happened to me before. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I have never been with a male Elf. I have only ever been with my wife – she was the love of my life. But you and me, although it feels like I am doing the only right thing, it also feels like I am neglecting what I have to do, like I am doing the opposite of what I should be doing.”

Elrond nodded slowly, his gaze fixed onto the wood on the floor.

“I feel the same way about Celebrian.” He sighed and paused, not sure about how he should continue. “She is in Valinor, the Undying Lands, but it still feels like I am betraying her.”

Thranduil waited for him to continue, but he did not. He wasn’t sure how to respond – was that all Elrond thought of him? A way of betraying his wife? 

“Don’t get this the wrong way. By no means do I mean that I do not enjoy every minute of my being in your company. I feel the same kind of affection for you, and though it may not be the same as the one I feel for Celebrian, it is different but still as strong as it could ever be. She was my wife, my love, but how can I still love her as much as I once did, now that she resides far away from where I will ever reach her? She is my past and my present, but you are my present and my future, for Celebrian does not have a place in my future, not truly. With you by my side, I feel whole again – like I’ve found the missing piece to my soul again. I am aware that you and I have not been…like this, for a long time now, on the contrary, especially since we’re immortal. But with the orcs, and knowing how strong and powerful they are, I do not want to risk not having said this to you.”

Thranduil had been all quiet while the Half-Elven had been talking, and he didn’t know what to say now either. But he didn’t have to, for Elrond kissed him with a passion like he hadn’t done before. Their bodies became one, just like their souls, and their hearts beating in unison as if they had become a whole new being altogether. 

Thranduil eagerly kissed him back and threw his arms around Elrond’s neck before he was sliding his hands down the Half-Elven’s back that seemed to vibrate at his touch. He felt the strongly-built muscles under his skin, felt the heat that was radiating from his body and opened his mouth to allow Elrond’s tongue to slid inside, moaning at the passion that was growing in his chest.

Elrond’s hand rested on Thranduil’s neck, supporting his head – a gesture that conveyed safety and security. His free hand caressed his blond hair, and every inch of his body which Elrond touched seemed to send sizzling signals through his veins. 

The moment seemed to last for an eternity before their lips parted again, both Elves out of breath. Thranduil looked into his eyes and felt weightless as he saw Elrond’s smile. 

“Tomorrow, I will bleed and fight for you,” Elrond said.

“I’ll make it right for you,” Thranduil promised. “After all they’ve done to you.”

“My Lord,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. Thranduil boldly sat upright again, ridding himself of any distraction. “What are your thoughts?”

He looked around, confused, and spotted Legolas with an amused expression on his face. Someone had asked him a question, and Thranduil avoided Riniel’s suspicious gaze, who was clearly suspecting him to still be suffering of any injuries. 

He hadn’t been listening, for the only one on his mind had been Elrond. Their kiss had happened very early, just after midnight, and only two hours had passed until the Council now. They still had almost a day left until they’d leave for the fight, and Thranduil felt guilty for not focusing. 

“My apologies. Could you repeat your question?”

Legolas smiled and did as his father asked. Thranduil only registered half of it, but agreed to whatever his son had said.

“Father, no offence but maybe you should rest a bit longer.”

“None taken.” Thranduil was aware that he was not helpful at all, and he felt bad. “I do not need to rest, though. I’m all good.”

“I disagree – you look tired, I can tell. Go, I shall take care of this.”

Maybe his son was right, even though he didn’t like to admit it. He wouldn’t rest, though. He excused himself, left, and headed straight to Elrond’s chambers, where he would await the Half-Elven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Let's ignore the consistency mistakes I made about the battle: last chapter, I sent the characters to rest at the end of the chapter so they would be prepared for the upcoming confrontation. Little did I know that I would forget that, due to thoughtless planning, and I included another whole day before the action happens. My apologies if this is confusing to you (I'd be lying if I said that it didn't take me way too long to explain this). Please let me know if this is still unclear, I'll try my best to explain further. Sorry about making this confusing.  
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed today's chapter. See you on Thursday with the new chapter – until then, take care!


	18. Obstacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Thranduil face some obstacles.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows amusedly as he saw the confused and surprised mien of Elrond as he entered his chambers. 

“What are you doing here?” the Half-Elven asked, his tone full of surprise.  
“I thought I might wait for you. Surprise you.”

“It worked.” Elrond smiled which quickly spread into a wide grin as Thranduil stood up from the bed where he had sat and approached him determinedly. 

He wrapped his arm around Elrond’s strong shoulders and they stood with their chests so close to each other, that they could feel the other’s heartbeat through their shirts. He softly brushed Elrond’s lips with his, and the Half-Elven buried his hands in Thranduil’s hair, grabbing it passionately, yet caressing it lovingly at the same time. They let themselves fall onto the bed, where Elrond took off his shirt with one swift motion, his bare torso rubbing against Thranduil’s, who quickly followed suit. The only thing that existed for him now was Elrond, and…a knock at the door. 

Thranduil sat up, banging his head against Elrond’s forehead. The Half-Elven cursed and recoiled, slightly out of breath. Thranduil started buttoning his shirt again, while Elrond already had his hand on the doorknob, waiting to open it. 

Panic started to overwhelm Thranduil, and in one swift movement, he placed himself beside the wardrobe, out of sight of the visitor, not daring to face whoever had knocked on the door. 

If the visitor saw Elrond alone, they would figure that he’d been working out, training before the battle. If the visitor, however, saw both Elves, it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together – both their faces were flushed with red colour and their hair a mess. 

Thranduil did not want to be discovered, not now, for he couldn’t risk being preoccupied with his heart’s issues during a battle (if he wasn’t already preoccupied with them). 

In the spur of the moment, he made his decision and pressed his back against the wall right beside the huge wardrobe, where the visitor would not be able to see him, where he could hide until he was ready to be open up about him and Elrond.

That did not diminish his affection for Elrond – he cared for him deeply, and felt utterly ashamed of how he chose to hide, but was instantly alarmed as Elrond was greeted by a familiar voice upon opening the door.  
Legolas.

“Mithrandir, is my father with you?” he asked. 

Thranduil’s heartbeat accelerated dramatically.

“He is…,” Elrond began, but stopped mid-sentence. _Please_ , Thranduil thought, eyes closed. _Don’t tell him._

“…not here,” Elrond finished. 

Thranduil still held his breath, not daring to reveal himself, not even in front of his son, and guilt flared within him. 

“Alright. Pardon my intrusion.” 

Legolas bowed, then left, followed by Thranduil letting out a loud breath. He was glad to be alone with Elrond now, but that feeling instantly vanished as he spotted the Half-Elven frowning at him.

“What was that?” he asked, sounding reproachful. No, not reproachful. It sounded more like hurt. 

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you hide behind the wardrobe as if you were a young Elven-Boy?”

Maybe he did sound reproachful.

“Legolas was there.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have noticed.” 

Elrond’s voice sounded way colder than usual, which startled Thranduil.

“What is the matter?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“What?” 

Thranduil cursed himself for behaving the way he did, and for asking ridiculous questions. 

“I hope you’re satisfied,” Elrond said. 

“I’m not. To be candid, I am embarassed.”

“You should be.”

Elrond stared at him coldly, not showing signs of any emotions that were undoubtedly stirring deep within him. Thranduil took a hesitant step toward the Half-Elven, who crossed his arms in front of him while simultaneously stepping away from him. His facade seemed to crumble around him, and pain flashed across Elrond’s face. 

“I regret it.”

“You told me you felt a deep sort of affection for me.”

Thranduil gulped, knowing perfectly well what he had said, and meant. 

Elrond questioned his emotions toward him, rightly so, after the Elven-King had behaved so childishly, and Thranduil’s guilt increased with each second that was spent in silence. 

He would not have kissed Elrond, would not have relished his touch, his presence if he hadn’t felt the emotions that he’d felt, and still did. 

He nodded, not daring to speak. His throat felt dry, and he coughed, nervously fidgeting with his shirt.

“If you feel affectionate toward me, then go out there and tell your people.”

The Elven-King recoiled, not truly registering what he was hearing.

“I cannot do that.”

His voice was hoarse and cracked. His answer had not been the response Elrond had hoped for, waited for, and his mien became darker as he fully turned away from Thranduil, facing the wall, and away from him.

“Alright. If you want to keep this a secret, then I do not want to have this secret at all.”

“Pardon?”

Thranduil felt as if he had been cut off air, and his lungs longed for him to take a breath. Panic rose in his chest, and it felt strangely similar to his broken rib stabbing his lung. It didn’t hurt as bad, though.

“I think you understood me perfectly.” Elrond sounded sad. “Please go. Now.”

“Elrond…”

“Go.”

“I–”

“Go!”

His shoulders hanging low, Thranduil crossed the room until he was standing at the door, where he, once again, looked around at Elrond, who didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. 

Not anymore. 

It was quiescent in the unusually dark hallway, and Thranduil felt utterly uncomfortable – a feeling that could never be compared to the turmoil inside him.

For once, luck was on his side, and he didn’t encounter anybody on his way to his chambers. Once he arrived there, he let himself sink down on the floor, his legs unable to carry his weight anymore, for they were trembling tremendously. Then his tears came, and Thranduil could not, and would not, do anything to hold them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am glad this chapter is done and published, because, to be honest, I am not a fan of it, like, at all. At this point I don’t know whether I should be laughing or crying because I cringed so hard when writing about how Thranduil hid behind the wardrobe. You may ask: Why did you write this then if you hate it so much? And the answer is: I don’t know, I only wanted some additional drama I guess *shrug*  
> See you on Monday with a way less cringy (or so I hope) chapter¨. Until then, take care!


	19. Father and Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Legolas-Thranduil bonding time before the action begins.

Surely, hours had passed since his conversation with Elrond, although Thranduil couldn’t be sure. 

He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, not registering anything. He didn’t even know whether he was blinking or not – he might as well have kept his eyes wide open while his mind was racing. Everything around him seemed to dissolve, nothing seemed to exist anymore. 

Nothing except for his quiet breath, his irregular heartbeat, and the uncomfortable silence looming around him. He had the feeling as if Elrond’s lips were still resting upon his. 

It was tearing him apart.

If, at the death of his wife, he’d been in agony, then what he felt now was nothing in comparison to it. He couldn’t describe it. It felt as if a huge knot had formed in his chest, a knot that was only expanding around his organs and threatening to squeeze his heart until it would combust. He was very well aware of what he had done wrong, for if their positions were reversed, and Thranduil had been in Elrond’s position, he surely would have been disappointed as well. 

Nevertheless, he desperately wished to be with the Half-Elven now and pushed against the tears that had been stinging in his eyes for quite a long time now. The lump in his throat was slowly beginning to suffocate him, or so it felt. 

Nothing helped his predicament, no matter how hard he tried to think of something more pleasant. Thranduil tried to focus on the upcoming fight, but to no avail. He had to talk to Elrond. 

He had only just sat up when someone was at the door, softly knocking two times against the hard wood. 

_Elrond_ , Thranduil thought immediately, hope flaring up inside him. He instantly bolted toward the door, accompanied by his loud and fast heartbeat. But it wasn’t Elrond who stood in front of him.

“Legolas,” Thranduil coughed, hoping that his disappointment he’d felt at the sight of his son hadn’t been too obvious. 

Legolas didn’t seem to notice, and the Elven-King hoped for it to remain as such. 

“I have been looking for you,” his son said. “May I enter?”

Thranduil stepped aside, allowing his son to enter, who did exactly so without hesitating. After all, why should he? He sat down on the windowsill, where he let his legs dangle down, for even the Prince was too small to reach the floor. 

For an instant, Thranduil felt as if he was observing his son as a very young Elven-boy, similar to a ten-year-old human child. Even then, Legolas had always sat down on the windowsill, and now, even as a warrior, he still did. Some things had never changed. But a lot of things had changed, and Thranduil found himself in the middle of one, desperately wishing for the ability to accept it. 

“Father?”

Confused, Thranduil blinked at his son, instantly aware that his mind had slipped away, causing him to fully miss what his son had said. Legolas smiled a crooked smile.

“What were you saying?” Thranduil asked sheepishly.

“I didn’t say anything. You only seemed rather absent, though, which is why I wanted to ask whether you’re alright.”

Thranduil looked at the ground, stunned.

“I am fine…I…am just exhausted,” he explained quietly. Legolas suspiciously raised an eyebrow, not believing his father’s words.

“Something is missing from you. Or someone.”

“What, or who should be missing from me, then?”

“A woman maybe?” Legolas joked although Thranduil doubted if there was not a hint of truth in the question.

“A woman?” Thranduil gasped. He was staring wide-eyed at his son, who was still smiling, and the Elven-King tried to regain composure, which he finally, but too late, did. 

“Don’t be so shocked, even though I was a bit blunt,” his son continued. “I am merely worried about you. Maybe you’re too lonely, I cannot be sure. What I am sure of, however, is that I want you to be content.”

Thranduil didn’t know what to say, for Legolas’s words warmed his heart, but he knew that it was not a woman who was missing from him. He had just started to open his mouth to respond when Legolas jumped down the windowsill and strode out of the room. Before he closed the door, though, he turned around again to say.

“We will be leaving tomorrow before sunrise – then you will finally have the chance to show the orcs who the King of the Woodland Realm is. And,” he continued more quietly, “I want you to be happy. With a woman or a man, I don’t mind.”

With those words, he left and closed the door, leaving his father staring at the spot where his son had just been standing in. Did he suspect anything? If so, how could he have noticed anything between Thranduil and Elrond, when the Elven-King had been so careful not to give anything away? 

His mind racing, he sat down on the soft mattress of his bed again and resumed his activity prior to his son’s visit: staring at the ceiling. He sighed deeply. 

His life seemed to be slipping through his fingers as if he’d lost all control over it – as if he’d had lost his grip on his sword during a fight and was now trying to regain a fixed hold on it. 

Then there would be the fight tomorrow when they would finally regain control of Mirkwood, even though the fear of something happening to Elrond was ultimately present, as if the fear was eating Thranduil up on the inside. 

The day of the fight, Thranduil woke up from a not so relaxing sleep. He’d already had issues with falling asleep, or being able to rest, even. Sleeping had been out of the question, for he kept remembering the look of hurt on Elrond’s face as he’d asked the Elven-King to leave. 

Again, he felt the pain of that moment deep within him, but he forced himself to push those emotions away. He would deal with that later, but for now, he would focus on overpowering the orcs.

He forced himself to remain in bed, letting his body relax one last time before getting up and putting his clothes on, along with his various weapons. While doing so, he tried not to focus on anything – not on Elrond, not on the battle, not on his conversation with his son. 

As if on cue, two knocks on the door got him back to reality, and Thranduil forced himself to greet his son appropriately, not as he had done the previous evening. Legolas looked at his father and his shirt that had not yet been closed.

“My apologies for disturbing you, father”, Legolas said. Thranduil nodded – he felt exhausted and not at all ready for a fight.

“How are you? You look tired.” Legolas sounded and looked worried.

“Do not worry, I am alright and ready.”

“We are leaving in half an hour. You are sure you are ready?”

“Always,” his father responded. He quickly finished gearing up, glad for the light metal that would protect him in the upcoming battle. Guiltily, he thought back to how quickly he had almost dismissed the dwarves and their craft, despite wearing mithril himself. 

He wished for Elrond to be with him, to be by his side right now. 

This desire enveloped his heart and spread across his veins as if it were the very essence of his blood. 

Again and again, he wished to hear Elrond’s voice in his mind again. Maybe it had indeed been his imagination only, a mere illusion caused by the fear he had felt for the Half-Elven. He was afraid now as well, was he not? 

He was afraid of losing his friend, his paramour. And he would do everything in his power to protect him from further harm, even though he knew that Elrond didn’t need protection. And he would do everything he could do be the Elf Elrond deserved, for he had not behaved as such until now. 

As they had agreed on, he met his son with the entire Elven-army at the main entrance. Determined, he stood in front of his people who looked upon them, chins high, ready to go into battle for him and their home. Only Elrond refrained from directly looking at him, and a sharp pain erupted in Thranduil’s chest, although he chose to ignore it. 

“Today, we fight! We will make the orcs pay for holding one of ours captive and torturing him! Today, they will pay for the mistakes they have made, and I will kill their leader, to avenge the misery he brought upon Lord Elrond, and for plotting against Mirkwood! Take a stand with pride! For Mirkwood and Rivendell!”

Thranduil’s voice boomed across the clearing and was met with applause and cheers and shouts – even Elrond cheered, but still averted his gaze, which the Elven-King tried to ignore. 

His son came up to stand beside him.

“Form up! A battle awaits you! Fight! Fight! Fight for your King! Fight for the Elven Folk! Fight for your eternal life and your home! Do not show mercy, for you will not encounter it! Show honour to your King, and to Rivendell!”

Thranduil smiled at his son and squeezed his shoulder tightly. 

“Take your place in the first row. I want you to lead them as you have always done.”

Legolas nodded, proud to finally be able to show true leadership, and proud of his father for realising that he wouldn’t be able to protect him for forever. 

“You are an excellent fighter, my son,” Thranduil said after marching for a while, just a few meters in front of the troop, and yet out of earshot. 

“I am proud of you.”

“Do not say that,” Legolas exclaimed.

“Why?”

“Humans always say that when they expect to die.”

“Maybe I deserve nothing less than death.”

His son looked at him, frowning deeply. They walked in silence for a bit, before Legolas spoke again.

“Father, I can only guess what occurred between you and Elrond. Whatever it was, I am sure that you will manage it. Whatever it is, you will overcome that difficulty, as you have with any other issue in your life.”

“How did you–”

“Father, I am not blind. I notice the way you look at him,” Legolas said and smiled. An honest smile.

Thranduil gulped.

“I do not care who you want to be with,” his son continued. “I will be happy for you if you are.”

“Be quiet.”

“Father…”

“Quiet!” 

Thranduil looked at his son.

“They’re here,” he said before all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that it is a Saturday, but I felt kind of bad for leaving you last Wednesday with the fight between Elrond and Thranduil and making you wait until Monday, so I decided to be kind and update for a third time this week and leave you with this cliffhanger instead. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope to see you back on Monday with the next chapter. Until then, take care!


	20. So it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be kind of graphic to visualize the fighting, so keep that in mind if you don’t like that.

Thranduil tried desperately to keep track of everything happening around him. 

There were bodies slamming to the ground, blood that was spilled, screams that echoed louder across the clearing than the clashing of swords ever could have. 

As he slew one orc after the other, the Elven-King tried to keep track of Elrond, but in vain. The Half-Elven was nowhere to be seen, leaving Thranduil clinging to hoping for his beloved’s well-being. 

With a scream of rage, he slammed his sword down upon the body of his opponent, who was dead before he hit the ground with a loud _thud_. 

Thranduil elegantly turned around, swinging his blade to meet the weapon of his new adversary who had snuck up on him from behind. Thranduil parried and side-stepped the next blow, embracing the strength that coursed through his body.

The orc smiled and showed its abhorrent teeth and the looming gaps between them.

“Get away from me,” Thranduil hissed as he stabbed the orc in the chest, burying the weapon in the bleeding flesh of the now dying creature until the hilt of the sword touched its grey skin, whereas the rest of the blade protruded from the other side of his chest. 

The orc struggled one last time before its eyes gazed ahead, unfocused. 

Thranduil withdrew his blade and was gone before the orc was on the ground, already battling a new opponent who was closely followed by a second orc, wielding its own, dirty blade.

Thranduil screamed as he hurled himself at the closest of them, gracefully avoiding the sharp edge of the weapon, stabbing the orc in the shoulder instead with his dagger, which he’d swiftly pulled from its sheath on his back. 

The orc stumbled back in surprise and the Elven-King used the opportunity to strike with his sword. The orc had retreated too fast however, resulting in a mere cut, nothing fatal. 

The orc cried out, and Thranduil ducked to escape the swishing blade of the second orc, who had now reached him and was attacking ruthlessly. 

Despite moving at full speed, the orc managed to get a hit – Thranduil hissed as he felt a sharp pain in his upper arm, the warm blood now trickling down his biceps. 

His arm hurt, but the Elf raised his weapon and struck, decapitating the orc in one swift motion. The second, already hurt orc attacked once again, but Thranduil threw his dagger at him and hit the horrendous creature in the exposed skin under its chin. It let out a gurgling sound, and Thranduil quickly withdrew his blade, not wanting to give it up in the fight.

Strength flooded through his body, most likely caused by the immense rush of adrenaline that he welcomed oh so dearly. 

Not waiting to be attacked, Thranduil approached the orcs now, ruthlessly killing them and spilling their blood. With his son by his side, he succeeded to overpower countless orcs, only to attack a new horde directly after. 

While fighting, Legolas was on the lookout for a higher-leveled spot, from where he would be able to shoot his arrows, for that way of fighting proved rather difficult and dangerous from his current position. 

Although he was an avid fighter, he had always preferred his bow and arrows, and was glad when he could finally put those to use – he hit one orc in the chest, one in the stomach, whereas a third orc was struck in the mouth, the head of the arrow piercing its skull. 

Thranduil was observing him rather proudly, but didn’t have the time to let his son know, for in that moment, he spotted Lord Elrond, who was on his own, surrounded by five orcs who were not at all threatened by the fight around them, as nobody seemed to notice the reality of what was going on.

Another horde approached Thranduil and Legolas, who were both on their own as well, and the Elven-King hesitated, not sure of what he should do. 

Leave Legolas and protect Elrond, or leave Elrond and help Legolas?

His son made the decision for him.

“Go help Lord Elrond!” he shouted over the noise. “I will handle these orcs!”

Thranduil didn’t hesitate and battled his way through to the Half-Elven, killing many orcs and injuring several. There were still so many of the enemy – where had they all come from? 

Meanwhile, Legolas had drawn his longsword and attached his bow to the leather belt strapped to his chest and back, just in time to fight off a bulky orc that looked at him with bloodshot eyes which reflected hunger and bloodlust. 

He had been in enough fights to grow immune to the abhorrent looks and smells that were typical for orcs. Legolas’s blade collided with that of the orc and the force of the blow and the strength of the orc were immense. 

The Elven-Prince was sweating and grunting with the effort to regain the upper hand. 

The orc withdrew his blade only to attack again, more viciously even, and defending himself was all Legolas could do without landing a hit. 

A loud thump behind him startled him, for he had not heard anyone approach him, and he risked a quick glance behind himself and saw Riniel standing there, weapons drawn and dripping blood. 

Legolas resumed fighting, but nodded at his friend appreciatively. He liked Riniel, who always looked out for him, in battle and after, as a fellow soldier, a healer, and a dear friend. 

When Thranduil finally arrived by Elrond’s side, the Half-Elven had already killed two of the orcs while battling the other three still. 

“What are you doing here?” Elrond shouted, brows raised in question while blocking the blow of a sword that had been swung dangerously close at him.

“What do you think I am doing?” Thranduil responded angrily and elegantly pirouetted out of the way to avoid being stabbed. 

Elrond couldn’t help but stare.

“I’m here to help you because I love you!” Thranduil panted.

Elrond kept staring at him and had only opened his mouth to respond when the three remaining orcs were joined by another four who all attacked at the same time. 

Thranduil was trying to keep them at bay, away from Elrond, for he knew the Half-Elven well enough now to recognise the pain he felt, along with feelings of weakness. 

The Elven-King killed the orcs without hesitation, but he himself started to become painfully aware of the multiple injuries he had already sustained, although they were minor wounds only.

Blood oozed out of a deep cut right below his cheekbone, and his injured arm felt heavier with each second that passed. 

“Where are all these orcs coming from?” Elrond asked, right before stabbing his opponent in the chest, leaving him to die in a puddle of his own blood, mixed with that of Elves and Orcs alike. 

“I have not the slightest idea!” Thranduil murmured under his breath, beheading the orc in front of him. 

He was out of breath and hurting all over, and he knew that Elrond did not feel differently. More and more orcs headed toward them, and the more they killed, the more appeared around them.

“We are not going to win this fight!” Elrond shouted.

“Yes, we are!” Thranduil responded angrily. “We will win this battle. Together!”

“Thranduil–”

“Listen to me!” Thranduil stabbed the orc in front of him with the sword in his right arm and swung his left arm, holding the dagger, in a circular motion to slice up another one’s neck. “I am not going to let the orcs win! Not after everything they have done to you and the whole of Middle-Earth!”

Elrond looked as if he wanted to respond, but refrained and nodded. 

Both Elves stood back to back, mentally sending each other strength and courage to get through this, for they had so much left unsaid. 

Blind of hatred and rage, Thranduil slashed and stabbed until his soldiers got through to him and Elrond, helping them and momentarily saving them.

They both stood there, breathlessly, having slain all of the remaining enemies. 

Their hands were touching all so slightly, and waves after waves of strength seemed to surge through Thranduil’s veins.

“That was very likely not the last of their attacks,” the Half-Elven breathed.

“How do you know?”

“I know it, because I saw their leader, Urtak, as they helped me captive,” Elrond explained. “He wasn’t among these troops, and I am fairly sure that he is not the kind of leader to stand back and watch. Especially if he gets to kill Elves.”

As if in response, the sound of a horn being blown reverberated in the air, announcing a second, and possibly even greater, wave of orcs. 

Thranduil’s soldiers regrouped behind him, Elrond, and Legolas, waiting for their command.”

“Elrond–”

“Don’t.” 

Thranduil sighed, scared of the fight and of what had yet to come.

“Fight up close,” Legolas shouted at the Elves behind them. “Seize the moment and stay in it! We will win!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked today’s chapter! I enjoyed writing it, even though it was hard for me as a non-native English speaker to really describe the fighting, so I hope I still managed to fulfill your expectations. I hope you are doing well! Until Thursday with the second part of the battle.


	21. So it continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle goes on.

Thranduil looked upon the new wave in horror – countless orcs were sprinting towards them, holding their weapons high, screaming at the top of their lungs. The Elven-King quickly turned to look at Elrond, but the Half-Elven had already disappeared from his side. He sighed and turned back to look at the fastly approaching enemy and unsheathed his sword. The Elves behind him did the same and regrouped, their feet steady on the already bloodstained ground. His heart was hammering in his chest as he realised how much his troop had already been diminished in numbers. Their chance at winning had decreased thus as well, and Thranduil did not have a lot of hope left. 

“Their leader is up there,” shouted Elrond, pointing at a distant orc who was standing on the top of a hill. The Half-Elven had appeared back at Thranduil’s side, who was grateful for his presence. “If we can fight our way through to him, maybe we will be able to hold our line of defense.”

 _Our_ line of defense. Apparently, Elrond had not entirely shut himself toward Thranduil, and the Elven-King smiled at the realisation. It was absurd, realising that now, in the face of death and destruction, and it certainly felt odd to give even the faintest hint of a smile. 

Legolas had been listening to what Elrond had said, and nodded.

“The three of us will be fighting to get close to Urtak,” Thranduil declared, looking intently at Elrond, who had paled intensely at the sight of the orc who had hurt him in so many, unimaginable ways. 

The army of the orcs hadn’t proceeded any further – they all stood there, gazing silently at the Elves who didn’t dare move a muscle. They had all barely survived the first attack and were now wary of what had yet to come.

“Thranduil, I should have told you this sooner, but I did not think about the implications,” Elrond said hastily, grabbing the Elven-King by the shoulders and shaking him slightly. Thranduil winced as his arm began to hurt anew, and Elrond quickly let go. “Urtak talked to me when they held me captive. I didn’t realise the importance of you knowing every detail of what he told me, but–”  
He was interrupted by the rising screams of the orcs and the heavy footsteps accompanying their movement toward the Elves. 

“Elrond, listen,” said Thranduil. “You, Legolas, and I will kill Urtak. I don’t know if one Elf only could manage that. The others,” he turned around towards his soldiers, who looked up at him for orders, “fight!”

The noise of the battle was almost unbearable. Screams echoed across the clearing and boomed like thunder in his ears, and his heart felt like it would shatter with each Elf that he saw die in front of him, unable to save him.Thranduil wanted to avenge the deaths of his people, but couldn’t, for he, Legolas, and Lord Elrond were sneaking around the fight to get closer to Urtak, which would ultimately get them closer to victory. Legolas had his bow and arrow drawn, bowstring tight and ready to fire if needed. Thranduil’s heart was racing in his chest, and for a split second, the Elven-King feared that the orcs would be able to hear it hammering in his chest. But all their foes were busy slaughtering the Elves, and none noticed the three figures sneaking around them in the bushes. 

“We should be out there with them, fighting,” Thranduil cursed quietly.

“Father, you know very well that that is not possible,” answered Legolas soothingly. “We have a task ahead of us, and if we succeed, we will be able to stop this nonsense.”  
“Thranduil,” Elrond began hoarsely. “There is something I have to tell you. About Urtak, he–”

“Be quiet,” Thranduil cut him off, raising his hand to put a finger to his lips. Elrond sighed and followed his stare – the Elven-King was looking up the hill, his gaze fixed on Urtak who was watching the uproar around him with a wicked grin, shouting orders and urging his fighters to battle harder and more ruthlessly than ever.

“NO!” 

Someone’s heart-wrenching scream was louder than the clashing of swords and the howling of the orcs, and the three Elves whipped around, trying to decipher what had been the cause of the shout. 

Thranduil spotted Riniel who was splattered with blood but leaning over the fallen body of an Elf, whose throat had been slit in one quick motion. The blood had stained the ground and the armour of the fallen and was still dripping from the cut. His eyes stared ahead, at the sky, but were unfocused, and his body lay limp in the Healer’s eyes.

“My son!”, he screamed, clasping his arms around his child, who was not a child anymore, but his child nonetheless. He was rocking his corpse as if soothing a baby to sleep. “NO!” His second scream was even louder than the first one. 

Thranduil’s heart hurt as he watched the Healer cry out again and again at the sight of his fallen son, but he desperately wanted to let him know to let it go, to move on as long as the battle was ongoing, to mourn later, but he couldn’t, not without blowing his cover. 

The Elven-King was taken aback as he watched an orc approach Riniel from behind, but the grieving Elf didn’t seem to notice, for all that existed for him now was the grief he felt. Thranduil wanted to shout at him to move, to grab his sword, to fight, but if he did, Urtak would notice which would ruin their chance of slaying the orcs’ leader. 

They were close enough now to reveal themselves with only one however small and reckless movement, but not close enough to attack Urtak and use his being distracted by the fight to their advantage. Thranduil had never felt so helpless as he did in that instant, and he let out a groan as the orc pierced Riniel with his sword from behind, stabbing him in the back right through his chest. 

The Healer gasped for air that he couldn’t breathe in anymore, and he opened his eyes, startled, and started coughing. A cry escaped his lips as the orc twisted the blade around and Riniel coughed once, twice, spitting blood that ran down his chin. He gagged and the orc yanked his blade out of the injured Elf’s body, who spasmed violently as he sank to the ground, his hands grabbing weakly at his chest. He fell forward, unable to catch himself, and his eyes seemed to stare right through his King, unblinking.

Thranduil remained in his spot for what felt like an eternity, unable to drop his gaze from his fallen soldier who had been so brutally murdered and whose body was now resting on his son’s, united in death. 

“ _Lasto beth nîn_ ,” Elrond murmured, his voice merely a whisper. “ _Pana ne sîdh_.”

Legolas spun around as he heard approaching footsteps behind them, and his father raised his blade, his eyes gleaming of hatred. Urtak had approached them, grinning wildly, and the three Elves stood tall against the orc. 

Thranduil glanced at his son who showed no sign of emotion – a characteristic only good warriors possessed. But Thranduil knew that his son was not at all calm, but hurting at the sight of his now deceased friend. The Elven-King wouldn’t be surprised if Legolas was only waiting to let all that anger out at the one responsible. 

Elrond was equally rattled, but had his eyes narrowed at Urtak, defiant. 

What united them was the pain they felt, but most of all the hatred and rage toward Urtak, toward the orc who had caused Riniel and countless other Elves to die.  
“Finally,” Urtak growled. “We finally meet again, Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him, gripping his sword more tightly, ready to cut his nemesis into pieces. 

“You will not win this fight,” Thranduil snarled. “We will kill you all.”

Urtak’s grin only grew at these words. 

“Open your eyes, Elf. I heard that your eyes are great? Look around and tell me who is slaying whom right at this moment.”

With these words, he attacked Thranduil with such speed that the Elven-King didn’t even realise that he was being attacked – his sword was kicked out of his hand and was propelled right into the bushes before he had any time to react. 

He felt foolish for having been overpowered so easily, and more so as Urtak approached Elrond and Legolas, sneering.

Thranduil quickly ran to the bush to retrieve his sword, knowing very well that his daggers wouldn’t be of much use against the massive orc. 

His heart stumbled in his chest as he saw that Legolas fired an arrow at the enemy, who was approaching his son without hesitation, his sword blocking the deathly tip of the arrow. Legolas grabbed for his sword and Elrond came to his aid, stabbing Urtak with his knife, but neither of them were able to block the blow to Legolas’s side. The Elven-Prince wanted to jump out of the way while simultaneously stabbing Urtak with his dagger, and managed to get a good cut across his forearm. Legolas grunted as Urtak’s blade collided with his side and he dropped his bow as he fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for ending it with a cliffhanger, and I'm sorry about Riniel. I really am.  
> The two Elvish sentences that Elrond says are: "Hear my words, go in peace." I didn't translate them myself but got them from http://archiv.herr-der-ringe-film.de/showflat.php?Number=381242&fpart=all (it's a German website, I merely translated the German translation into English). I do hope that you enjoyed today's chapter! I don't know if I will be able to update on Monday since I will be moving then, but I will try my best to find the time to do so because I don't want to be cruel. Hope you are well, and take care. xx


	22. So it goes on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil confronts Urtak.

Thranduil saw everything happen in slow-motion: Legolas fell to the ground, his face contorted with pain, a pool of blood already forming beneath his body. His already pale skin whitened threateningly, and Thranduil knew that his son had gone into shock. 

What he also knew was that he would not lose his son today. 

He cried out with rage as he threw himself against Urtak, causing them to tumble to the ground. He was lucky – the orc had dropped his sword in surprise as they fell, otherwise Thranduil would not have stood a chance. 

His arm was throbbing as he raised his fist and punched Urtak in the face, whose nose gave away with a sickening crunch, hot blood gushing down his chin. The orc cried out in pain which gave Thranduil a moment’s satisfaction. 

That feeling vanished instantly as a knee struck him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The orc raised himself into a sitting position and punched Thranduil in return, who cried out as the side of his face exploded with pain. 

Urtak let out a laugh and wanted to strike again, but the Elf blocked him. He might not be able to see clearly, for the blow to his head had blurred his vision, but his reflexes were still intact. 

Although it didn’t happen often to fight without swords, he had been prepared for fights like this. He had spent countless hours practising these exact moves, and was glad to put them to practice, silently thanking the Valar to have learnt this. 

He didn’t have the time to get back to retrieve his own sword, and saw, at the edge of his blurred vision, a figure bent over his son’s body. 

Although he was in the middle of a fight, he risked a look, alarmed that it might be an orc. But it was only Elrond, murmuring verses in Sindar to his son in order to save him from darkness.

Thranduil was relieved – he would have needed a helping hand, but he preferred it this way. Elrond out of danger, making Legolas would be fine, Thranduil fighting for all of them. And he would win. 

For himself, for his son, for Mirkwood. For Elrond. 

The Elven-King stumbled as a kick almost sent him sprawling to the ground, but he steadied himself in time. He wiped the blood away, smearing it across his face. 

Blood was gushing from both his nostrils, but Thranduil barely registered that, for Urtak was bleeding equally as bad, satisfying the Elven-King. 

He grinned, and the orc snapped, running toward the Elf at full speed, wilder than the giant spiders the Elves of Mirkwood had been fighting for centuries. 

Urtak grabbed Thranduil by his shoulders, pushing him back, back, back, away from Elrond, away from Legolas, and Thranduil was grateful to get Urtak away from them. The Elven-King let out a cough as his back slammed into the bark of a tree and gasped as Urtak grabbed him by the throat. 

The Elven-King tried to free himself from the firm grip, but a fist slammed into his cheekbone, instantly blurring his vision even more. Thranduil blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head from the constant ringing in his ear. He gagged as he smelled the orc’s breath and was even more disgusted at the grin that spread across Urtak’s face. 

“This is how you end, scum,” the orc snarled. “I will see you suffer, just like I have had planned for ages.”

Thranduil blinked.

“What?”

At this moment, he didn’t care if they were enemies – he wanted to know what the orc was talking about. 

“Did your little friend not tell you?” scoffed Urtak, and Thranduil shook his head, exacerbating his pain even more. 

“What should he have told me?” he answered, teeth grit. Urtak laughed.

“I told him everything about my devious plan. I always assumed that he would tell you instantly, considering your little…secret.”

“What are you talking about?” Thranduil hissed, tolerating the punch that made his teeth rattle in his gums. His vision blackened, but was back to its blurry state in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t pretend not to have a liaison to the other filth.” Urtak grinned, his spit hitting Thranduil right in the face. How could he have possibly known about their relationship? Or was it all bluff to gain some time? But time for what, exactly?

“What was your plan?” Thranduil murmured, fighting unconsciousness that was threatening to overwhelm him. 

Oh! how much he would have appreciated to just close his eyes, to let himself drift away, to give in to the pain in order not to feel it anymore. 

But he couldn’t give him. He was a warrior, and he had to kill Urtak. For his people. For Riniel, Legolas, for Elrond.

“It has always been my plan to kill you,” Urtak explained. “I told the other Elf that, but apparently he doesn’t care enough about you to inform you of this.”

If this was really true, then Elrond had known he would be sending Thranduil to his death. The disappointment he felt sat deep within him – maybe he should have known that this would be the outcome of everything. 

“Shocking, am I right?” Urtak said, feigning compassion. “How very sad.”

Thranduil frowned. He couldn’t allow the orc to play with his emotions, not in the middle of a battle.

“But your plan hasn’t succeeded,” he replied coldly. “For I am still alive.”

Urtak’s grip on his throat loosened a bit before tightening again, but Thranduil had noticed the split insecurity in his face. 

“You’re alive still,” Urtak replied. “Still alive. I will kill you soon enough, avenging my folk. You slaughtered them, and you will pay for the blood you spilled!”

“They deserved it.”

Thranduil knew that his last, snarky remark had been a reckless one, and he regretted it instantly as the orc lifted his feet off the ground to throw him across the forest floor. 

“You don’t even have a weapon,” Thranduil went on, unable to get off the ground, for Urtak had already reached him and was pinning him down with his whole body. “How do you want to kill me? To rip my heart out of my chest?”

Urtak was easy to provoke, and Thranduil was content to see the rage growing within him. 

“Maybe I will do exactly that!” Urtak hissed, ripping the mithril from Thranduil’s chest, exposing his bare skin. 

He was holding the Elf tightly and placed his right hand right above his heart. The orc started to pierce Elrond’s skin with his claws, slowly, which only increased the agony Thranduil already felt. 

His vision blackened, and he threw a punch at Urtak’s face, but his enemy didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. His focus was solely on the blood that emerged from beneath his claws that kept digging deeper and deeper into Thranduil’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I did manage to update, thank the seagulls for waking me up early in the morning, otherwise you wouldn’t have got a chapter today. I hope you enjoyed this part of the fight, I surely had a lot of fun writing it! I’m still adjusting to my new place now (concerning cleaning, organizing, buying stuff I need) so I hope I will be able to update on Thursday, but I’ll definitely try my best! Take care xx


	23. So it ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Urtak fight one last time.

Thranduil desperately tried to free himself from the claws hovering above and in his chest, but the more he moved, the deeper Urtak’s claws tore into him. 

“Nobody is here to help you,” the orc murmured, grinning. “You will soon follow your son, and then the Half-Elven will follow you.”

Thranduil cried out as he wrenched himself free, rolling under Urtak’s outstretched arm and immediately tumbling to the ground, his uninjured arm instantly bringing up a hand to press against the wound in his chest. 

The Elven-King blinked a few times to get rid of the black spots dancing in his vision. Urtak was thankfully surprised enough not to attack immediately after letting Thranduil slip out of his grasp. The Elf used the opportunity to get himself to his feet until he stood more or less upright, leaves and dirt in his hair. 

He cried out as he flung himself at the orc, and both fell to the ground. The impact knocked the wind out of Thranduil, and even Urtak wheezed. Thranduil used the momentum to get himself up again, kicking the orc in the ribcage, once, twice, until he heard the Urtak’s ribs give in under his weight. The Elf was content as he heard them crack, but that didn’t stop him. 

Even as Urtak knocked his feet from under him, causing Thrandui to painfully crash onto the ground, Thranduil didn’t stop fighting, for he would not lose. He had landed in a spiky bush, which was piercing his skin all over his body – but there was something else beneath his back, cold, hard metal.

His sword.

He had his weapon back. He scrambled to his feet again, quickly evading a kick to his abdomen, and wielded his blade high. The orc looked stunned, which quickly turned into blind hatred. 

“How did you get your sword?” He hissed, his tone deadly.

Thranduil decided to just shrug, angering his enemy even further. 

He smirked – maybe he could use that fury to his advantage. Maybe the orc would be more vulnerable that way. Urtak attacked and Thranduil swung his blade, but poorly, for his injured arm was growing heavier with each second. The orc ducked underneath it and slammed his shoulder into Thranduil’s, who stumbled backwards into a tree. 

He kept holding his sword, but weakly. With all his might and willpower, he urged himself to keep standing, even though every fibre of his body wanted to drop to the ground and give up. 

Urtak stormed at him again, but Thranduil raised his sword again and swung blindly. The sharp edge of the blade hit Urtak’s wrist, where it cut through flesh and bone, severing his hand from his arm. The orc howled and stumbled backward, clutching his injured arm. 

Momentarily relieved, Thranduil let himself lean back on the tree, gasping for breath, and forcing himself to remain conscious. He couldn’t give up. 

“This was for Riniel, you disgusting creature!” Thranduil hissed. 

Urtak only looked at him, his mouth twitching. 

“Sad to watch him die,” Urtak growled. “He would have made a good toy.”

Thranduil recoiled in disgust as Urtak breathed in through his nostrils as if relishing the smell of blood. 

“Only imagining him screaming as I whipped him…,” Urtak continued.

“You are filth.”

“Maybe. But tell me, Elf, wouldn’t you want to see me suffer either?”

Thranduil opened his mouth to respond, but no sound escaped his lips, so he closed it again. Urtak was right – he had imagined the orc in agony, drawing pleasure from that mental image. 

“See? You and I, we are not so different.” Urtak sounded satisfied. “In fact, I believe that we are one and the same.”

Thranduil was too distracted to react as the orc reached behind him, took a dagger out of its sheath strapped to his back and flung it right at him. The sharp edge of it hit Thranduil in the thigh, and the Elf cried out in pain, stumbling back until he couldn’t carry his weight anymore. 

He fell to the ground and Urtak was leaning above him immediately after, saliva mixed with blood dripping down his lips onto Thranduil’s own bloody face. Thranduil gagged at the rotten smell that hit him. Urtak had pinned the Elven-King to the ground, and the Elf felt ridiculous for having let that happen again. Urtak’s knees kept hold of Thranduil’s arms, and his remaining hand was resting on his throat. 

“What comes next?”, Urtak grinned. 

Thranduil wanted to respond but couldn’t, for the grip on his throat tightened considerably, and only a choking sound escaped him. The orc furiously looked down on his arm which was still bleeding, but then decided to bring the stump to the Elven-King’s face until he touched his cheek. 

Thranduil felt the warm blood on his skin and felt sick to his stomach as the orc started to rub the bloody end of his arm in circular motions against his face. The Elf forced himself to hold his breath and tried to calm his stomach. 

Urtak’s grip on Thranduil’s throat tightened again and the Elf reflexively gasped for air, but found that he couldn’t. He started twitching, trying to free himself, which only amused the orc, who briefly released the grip on him a bit.

“Any last words?”

“Behind you,” Thranduil choked out, his words merely a whisper.

“You think I will fall for that?”

“But he’s right,” Elrond said, raising his sword behind Urtak who wanted to get up in surprise, but couldn’t, for Elrond’s blade slammed into his back. 

Urtak let out a grunt, his eyes widened in shock. His hand that had been clutched around Thranduil’s throat let go, and the Elven-King rolled over to stand up, breathing stertorously, gasping for air. He remained in a kneeling position, breathing heavily, thankful for the air he could breathe in again. 

He glimpsed Elrond stabbing Urtak again and again, the orc unable to comprehend what was happening to him. Urtak looked down his chest where blood was leaking through his clothes and armour, and when Elrond ripped his weapon out of the orc’s body, the latter stumbled to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

He made one last gurgling sound as he fell, as if Elrond’s sword had been the only thing keeping him on his feet. 

Thranduil leaned back against the bark of a tree, still breathing rather heavily. Elrond approached him and worry crossed his face. 

“You are bleeding.” Those three words sounded dull, as if the Half-Elven didn’t know himself what to say.

“I’m aware.” Thranduil felt a faint throbbing pain in his chest and throat, where Urtak had grabbed him, threatening his life over and over again. “I am fine.”

His voice sounded raspy and hoarse, and his lungs felt as if they were burning.

“We should go back to the battlefield,” Elrond said hesitantly. 

Thranduil wanted to do the exact same thing, but didn’t know how long he could remain in a standing position, let alone fight. 

“You cannot fight,” Elrond said as he registered Thranduil’s poor physical condition, earning a grunt from the Elven-King, who knew very well that the Half-Elven was right, but did not want to accept his predicament. 

“I can fight,” Thranduil said, standing upright, but immediately needing support from the tree in order not to fall back to the ground. 

“No, you can’t,” Elrond insisted. “Ignore your pride for one mere second, and you shall realise that I am right.”

“You cannot order me to stand back while my people fight.”

“Then go,” the Half-Elven said, stepping aside to let Thranduil pass. The Elven-King didn’t move, for he found not the strength to do so. 

“I told you,” Elrond added defiantly, softly grabbing Thranduil by the shoulders to lower him to the ground. His touch was soothing, and Thranduil didn’t object. 

“Elrond, those are my people that are being slain right this moment. I need to be out there and fight. It is my duty.”

“Wise words, my friend,” the Half-Elven breathed softly, cupping Thranduil’s head in his hands, raising his chin so they would look directly at each other. “As King, you also need to consider what will happen to your folk if you die in battle. You are not capable right now of raising a sword, what kind of help would you be? And if you died, what then? What would your people do then?”

The Elven-King knew Elrond was right and didn’t know how to respond.

“And if you died, what would I do?”

Those words hit Thranduil with a force so immense that he let out a huff, smiling faintly. For one split moment, he imagined what it would feel like to see Elrond die the way he had seen Riniel be killed. The fear of not knowing whether he would find Elrond when the latter was held captive by the orcs crept back up on him and he shuddered. 

“I cannot lose you,” Elrond went on to say. Thranduil noticed that tears glimmered on the Half-Elven’s cheeks before realising that he himself was giving in to his own pain, thankful to be able to share it with someone.

“You are not going to lose me.”

Instead of answering, Elrond pressed his lips on Thranduil’s, whose heart seemed to explode with emotion. Both Elves relished in the warm feeling they felt, becoming whole again after being apart for so long. Thranduil raised a hand to stroke Elrond’s hair, brushing it aside, placing his hand on the other’s cheek, caressing his smooth skin while Elrond held him. Too soon, they parted, and Elrond stumbled back as if realising what he had been doing just now. 

“Do not think that this will change what I said back in my chambers,” he said more coldly now, his eyes full of love and desperation. 

Why would he say that now? It was obvious to Thranduil that they loved each other, no matter what he had said days ago. Even Legolas had noticed it. 

_Legolas_. 

“Where is Legolas?” Thranduil demanded and managed to stand up, the fear of his son’s state keeping him upright. “Where is my son?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I wasn’t entirely sure if I would be able to update tomorrow, so I didn’t want to take any chances which is why I updated a day early. The story is slowly coming to a close, and I hope you don’t mind the new cliffhanger too much. I’m curious though, what are your assumptions of how it’s going to continue?  
> Next chapter will be up on Monday. Take care until then x


	24. So it is over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is over.

Thranduil only vaguely remembered what had happened afterwards, because it was all a blur. Before Elrond could say anything as a reply to his question, the Elven-King had heaved himself to his feet and rushed (or rather, stumbled) over to the place where his son had been injured. 

He was gasping by the time he reached Legolas’s side, while all around him, the orcs had noticed that their leader had been slain and were now trying to flee, but in vain, for the remaining Elves were now hopeful again. As he saw his son’s still body, Thranduil fell to his knees, right by his side. 

Legolas’s face was ashen, his eyes closed, and blood was still emerging from his wound, which had been patched up with a simple cloth that was already drenched in blood.

For a split second, Thranduil dreaded that his son was dead – until he saw the slight movement of his chest as he slowly breathed in and out. His breathing was laboured, but he was alive, and Thranduil bent over his son, cradling him in his arms, blissfully unaware of everything that was happening around him, unaware of the end of the battle as the last fleeing orc sank to the ground. 

The Elven-King flinched as he felt Elrond’s hand upon his shoulder.

“I am not sure if he will survive,” the Half-Elven breathed softly. 

Thranduil was incapable of moving, as if he had been paralysed. A future without Legolas was unimaginable, he couldn’t lose his son, not after losing all the family he had ever had. 

“Please do something,” he tried to say, but his voice cracked and was hardly a whisper. 

“I don’t have the right means here,” Elrond answered with the strange calmness of a Healer, not giving away his own fear, hiding his shaking hands behind his back so that Thranduil wouldn’t see. 

Thranduil became painfully aware of the quiescence around him – the remaining Elves were tending to their wounded, mourning their deceased, and the Elven-King’s heart seemed to shatter at the sight of so many fallen soldiers. The lump in his throat only seemed to grow as his gaze found Riniel, who was still staring at something only he could see. 

Sorrowful faces gathered around the Elven-King, and the Elves started to lift Legolas into their arms in order to safely carry him back to the palace, along with all the other injured Elves. 

Thranduil forced himself to his feet. 

“Those who are not injured, help those who are in need of aid, carry them if you must, so they can get the treatment they need back at the palace. Rini–our healers will help them there,” he announced.

“What about the dead, my Lord?” someone in the crowd asked. 

“Leave them here,” the Elven-King said after considering their options. There weren’t many. “We do not possess the strength to carry them all.”

Shouts of protest erupted from all around him, much to Thranduil’s expectations.

“We are too few to carry them all. There are too many who are injured to carry, and too many fallen to mourn. It is impossible for us to carry them away from here now.”

Sad faces looked at him, some stared at the ground, their shoulders down. Elrond decided to help him.

“We promise you to send forth everyone possible in order to retrieve the bodies of the fallen. We promise that they will receive the ceremony they all deserve.”

Thranduil looked at the Half-Elven appreciatively. If the situation hadn’t been such a serious one, he might have smiled a little. But the corners of his mouth didn’t even twitch. 

The way back to the palace lasted a lifetime, even for an immortal Elf. Elrond was supporting Thranduil, who only managed to stumble along, and who was grateful for the Half-Elven’s arm around his waist. 

He tried not to put too much weight on Elrond’s body, but failed to do so, for he could barely stand upright, let alone walk.  
Now that the battle was over, he could feel all of the injuries he had obtained, and the exhaustion was not helping, either. 

All his limbs were sore and aching, and he wanted to sit down and rest, but couldn’t, not before they arrived at the palace. 

In order not to think about the fight, he thought back to his kiss with Elrond on the battlefield and the brief feeling of relief and safety that he had felt. How their lips had connected as if everything was alright – he’d almost even forgotten Legolas then, and he regretted not helping him on the battlefield. 

He couldn’t watch his son die. And as he looked at him, seeing how he was still breathing, he felt hope. 

When he finally reached his chambers, he let himself fall onto the soft mattress of his bed, finally giving in to the exhaustion and the pain. The last few metres of their way, he had constantly collapsed, his knees buckling under him, unable to keep him upright, but Elrond had always been there to catch him in time. 

The Half-Elven practically carried him the last steps of their way, and Thranduil’s vision blackened and cleared again and again. Elrond pulled a blanket over him and left him to fetch a healer, for he, too, was exhausted and needed rest. 

Thranduil was thankful to finally let his eyes close and embrace the darkness that was now overwhelming him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This was a rather short chapter, so my apologies. The next one will be longer, I can promise you that! I do have a small announcement for the future updates: I will no longer be updating on Mondays, simply because my classes start again next week and I will have two lectures on Mondays, which simply does not leave the time for me to come on here. I might update on Sundays or Tuesdays instead for the last few chapters. So allow me to figure out how to balance university and social life again. Hope you are all doing well, and take care! xx


	25. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of everything.

Despite falling asleep right after his arrival, Thranduil had woken up multiple times in a nervous sweat, for his mind kept recalling his son – Urtak stabbing him, Legolas lying on the battlefield, unconscious. He kept imagining the funeral he would have to arrange if the Elven-Prince succumbed to his injuries, and was left restless. The fear of losing him won over, and Thranduil heaved himself out of the bed, sweating profoundly with the effort. 

By the time he was finally standing, he was gasping for air, sweat trickling down the side of his pounding temple. A stabbing pain made him look down his torso, where he caught sight of a bandage drenched in blood. 

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to take one slow step forward – it cost him all his strength, for his body seemed to be burning from within. Every muscle, every bone, every tendon ached, and he tried to distract himself from it but didn’t succeed. Not until–

“What do you think you are doing?” Elrond’s voice was exceptionally loud and Thranduil closed his eyes to stop his head from throbbing. 

The Half-Elven crossed his arms and stared him down.

“I am going to see Legolas,” Thranduil said matter-of-factly. He had to see him, to check on how he was doing. He had to be there for him, as a father should. 

“You are not going anywhere,” Elrond responded. “You will lie down again.”

“Elrond, I am going to see my son.”

“No,” the Healer said curtly. “You need to rest. You are not capable of aiding Legolas in that state of yours.”

“But I can be there for him, be there with him,” the Elven-King said exasperatedly. 

Elrond was slowly approaching him, his warm eyes resting upon Thranduil.

“If Legolas were standing here right now, he would be telling you the exact same thing: to take care of yourself. He is not alone. And you will not be alone either, for I will stay here with you.”

Thranduil was too tired to argue. 

“Sit down. I will stay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Thranduil did as Elrond asked him to and lay back down on his bed, relieved to not be standing anymore. The Half-Elven pulled out a chair closer to the bed where he sat down, his hands resting near Thranduil’s. 

“How is Legolas?” Thranduil finally dared to ask. 

Elrond exhaled shakily, exhaustion clearly visible on his face.

“He lost a lot of blood and needs some time to recover,” the Half-Elven responded. “I took care of him for a bit, but I do believe that he will be fine again.”

“He is going to heal?” The hope in Thranduil’s voice was so tender, it warmed Elrond from within. “He’s not going to…die?”

Elrond shook his head.

“One can never be fully sure with injuries such as his, but I do not think he will die.”

Thranduil ignored the negative connotation to it, the uncertainty, and decided to cling onto the hope that Elrond gave him.

“He hasn’t woken up, but he is well taken care of. He should be a lot better in a few days.”

Thranduil would have cried out of joy if he hadn’t been so exhausted, and if it hadn’t hurt so much. He smiled and placed a careful hand on the Half-Elven’s.

“Thank you,” he murmured and closed his eyes, leaning back into his pillow.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

He had somehow managed to get some sleep. Although he kept dreaming of Legolas almost bleeding out on the ground, that imagery vanished to make room for the memory of Elrond kissing Thranduil after defeating Urtak. 

Even asleep, he could almost feel Elrond’s lips on his in that beautiful yet terrifying instant. 

Even asleep, he was yearning for Elrond’s presence and his warmth. 

Except that the Half-Elven was present, and his hand warmly holding his as Elrond slept next to his bed when Thranduil woke up. He saw how his brown hair was falling into his face, how his eyes were closed, how his breathing was slow. 

Thranduil coughed once, twice, for his throat felt enormously dry. Elrond woke up to the sound and his worried eyes instantly found Thranduil’s.

“Water,” the Elven-King croaked. “Please.”

His voice was hoarse and he wondered how long he had been resting. Elrond immediately got up to fulfill his wishes, and Thranduil drank all of it in one big sip. 

“Thank you,” the Elven-King said as he placed the glass on his night desk. He took a deep breath before staring at Elrond who had sat down next to him again. 

“Urtak told me that you knew exactly what he was planning on doing.”

“What do you mean?” Elrond asked, visibly confused before becoming as pale as snow as he heard Thranduil’s next words.

“He told me all about his plan. You knew his only goal was to see me dead.”

Thranduil wasn’t sure why he made it sound like he was accusing Elrond of anything. Maybe he was.

“His plan had always been to lure me into his hiding place so he could end my life. Why did you never tell me?”

Elrond looked at the floor, struggling for words.

“I am sorry,” he finally managed to say. “I was afraid that it would distract you and that he would be able to hurt you more. I was wrong. I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should have.” Thranduil’s voice sounded colder than he had intended, for he doubted that, if he had known the truth behind Urtak’s plans, it would hardly have changed anything.  
Elrond nodded and got up before leaving, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. 

Meanwhile, in a chamber far away from his, the dead were gathered, white blankets covering their bodies in a hall of stone. It had been quiet as the Elves had brought the fallen in, not yet having told the close relatives about the tragic news. 

A female Elf rushed into the hall, her eyes distraught, her long, brown hair bound in a thick braid. Tears were streaming down her face as she sank to the ground next to two bodies, and she screamed, wailed, holding hands with the two fallen soldiers who had given their lives for their King. She cried, wept, begging her husband and her son to come back, knowing perfectly well that they would never bless her with their presence again. 

She was alone in the hall now, surrounded only by the dead, and she swore to herself to avenge her family’s death. She swore to herself to make the one who was responsible miserable, just as she was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I hope you enjoyed reading today's chapter! As I have said before, the story is coming to a close, and only two more chapters will follow, as I have finished writing it now. But do not fret, this story might be over, but the saga will (someday) continue. I also gave names to the chapters, which might make it easier for you to navigate through it if you want to reread a specific chapter. For now, enjoy the rest of the story and stay safe!! xx


	26. Noro Lim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say goodbye.

He was alone again and forced himself to lie down, hoping to fall asleep again, but he wasn’t tired anymore. He lay awake for an eternity, staring only at the ceiling, wondering why he had been so angry at Elrond earlier. 

He was confused about everything. He needed to get his things in order again, but he didn’t know how. 

Even before the battle, Elrond hadn’t been keen to talk to him because of his embarrassing behaviour, but he was sure that their relationship was damaged with no chance to ever repair it. Not knowing about his son’s well-being did not help at all. 

He sat up slowly, making sure his movements were not too hectic. He would first go see Legolas, then Elrond. He would make this right. 

As he opened the door, he stumbled back and almost fell as he saw Elrond standing outside his chambers, blocking his path, arms crossed and gaze stern. 

“I knew you would try to leave,” he said, walked past the Elven-King and sat down on his chair. 

“But how?”

“Obviously you wanted to see your son. I can’t blame you.”

Thranduil nodded but refused to sit down on the bed. 

“Lay down,” Elrond commanded. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Thranduil debated whether or not to follow his orders, but he decided to obey, for the look on the Half-Elven’s face was not warm at all. 

“Can I ask you something?” Thranduil blurted before Elrond could say anything at all. Elrond looked surprised, but nodded.

“As I was searching for you,” Thranduil continued. “You know, when you had disappeared and I was looking for you on my own…I heard your voice.”

Elrond frowned.

“It was, as if…you were talking to me. Telepathically, I mean. I didn’t know that it was possible.”

“What exactly did I say?” Elrond asked. 

“I do not recall it exactly,” the Elven-King continued. “But you asked me to help you, that I only had two days to do so, and that they would kill you if I was too late.”

“I did think something of that kind, but I most certainly did not intend to talk to you,” Elrond replied, his voice ice-cold. “You must have imagined it then.”

Thranduil nodded, but his heart dropped. 

“It gave me strength, and hope. Your voice. You. You gave me strength and courage when I needed you to remind me not to give up and to keep looking for you.”

Elrond was at a loss for words, but his cheeks reddened considerably, along with a faint smile.

“If I had not heard you, I am sure you would be dead now. As I first heard your voice, I was confused, unsure of what it was, where it came from – it frightened me. But it also felt familiar. As if you were by my side as I was searching for you, as if you were helping me. Your voice seldom appeared in my thoughts, but it did appear. And even if it was only my imagination playing some foul tricks on me, that does not get in the way of my feelings for you. For, as I was searching for you, I realised that you and me, we were, are not enemies, even if we thought ourselves to be. We were friends, meant to be there for each other. I had to be there for you, free you from all evil that held you captive. I was ready to accept every cruel fate if it meant to save you from harm, even my own death – for I realised that you were too important to me for me to live on eternally. And even if I did not really hear you talking to me, you gave me strength. Strength to save the one I love.”

Thranduil took a deep breath. 

“I am sorry for all I have done to you, Elrond. My feelings for you are unwavering. I love you.”

The Half-Elven’s face was full of emotion and brightened with each word that Thranduil was saying. His eyes reflected the love, happiness, even surprise, but also fear.

“I love you, too,” the Half-Elven breathed softly and allowed a tear to trickle down his cheek. 

“I am sorry, but I will leave Mirkwood and return to Imladris. I know that we share a profound love, but it has no future. And I cannot do that. I am sorry. I will depart tomorrow.”

“Elrond…”

“Do not make this any harder than it already is. I will leave Mirkwood, Thranduil. It is the only way to escape the pain that has enveloped my heart.”

He turned around to leave, but, as he opened the door and held it ajar, he looked at Thranduil once again to say:

“This time, I will not be standing guard at your door.”

A part of Thranduil wanted to walk after him, to see if he was not standing on the other side of the door, but he couldn’t. The pain was too much. 

The funeral for all the deceased took place the next day, and everyone gathered in the hall to say their final goodbyes. The fallen would be buried accordingly after the ceremony, when everyone had left. 

Elrond was also standing amongst the grieving Elves, but Legolas was not among them, for he still had to remain in bed. The Elven-Prince was not yet capable of moving too much, let alone stand. Thranduil himself was still in pain, but as King, he simply could not stand back and not attend. 

He looked upon the pale faces with deep sadness, murmuring some words in Elvish, softly placing his hand on their shoulders, saying a prayer for them. He knew all of their names, but felt guilty for never having properly interacted with them. He was ashamed, and knew that he had to do better in the future. He had led them all to their deaths, and they hadn’t questioned him, but for most of them, he had never really bothered knowing them. It was too late now, and Thranduil regretted being ignorant. 

He felt change within him, and he knew that the whole story had altered him. 

As he approached Riniel’s still body, he remained there standing for a longer time. The Healer had grown on him, and seeing him lifeless hurt. The blood had been cleaned off his face, but the traces of the fight still remained. Despite their attempts of covering up all of the injuries, some scars couldn’t be hidden, and the most lethal one couldn’t, either.   
“I’m sorry,” Thranduil whispered as he gently placed his hand upon Riniel’s unmoving chest, some part of him hoping to feel a heartbeat. But he didn’t feel one, because there was none, and the realisation of never again being able to argue and laugh and speak with him hit him hard. He didn’t mind crying in front of his people, for he couldn’t have hidden his sadness anyway. 

“I shouldn’t have let my people to their doom,” the Elven-King continued to tell Riniel, even though the Healer couldn’t hear him. “I’m sorry that you had to watch your son die. I regret letting you go and not helping you when you needed aid. I’m sorry.”

He wept bitterly as he continued to say goodbye to all the others who had lost their lives in order to fight for their King, and he was ready to take all the blame his people would throw at him. But nobody did. 

After he left the ceremony, he went to the only place where he wanted to be. As he entered Legolas’s room, he saw with delight that his son was awake, although he still looked rather shaken. He went over to his son to give him a hug but felt utterly sorry and foolish as he felt Legolas wince in pain.

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil apologised, sounding remorseful, but his son gave him a soft smile.

“It is fine, father,” Legolas answered. “I am fine.”

“How are you really?” Thranduil didn’t feel at ease, although he couldn’t have explained why. He was with his son again, but the one that kept invading his thoughts was Elrond.

“I really am okay, father,” Legolas insisted. “I am a lot better than before.”

He glanced upon his father with a slight frown.

“What exactly are you doing here, though?”

“Visiting my son, perhaps?” Thranduil answered with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “What would you have thought I was doing?”

“That is not at all what I meant. I meant: what are you still doing here in Mirkwood?”

Thranduil blinked in surprise. 

“Elrond,” Legolas elaborated, but only managed to confuse Thranduil even more. 

“Should you not be riding after him?”

“What do you mean? Why should I?”

“I have said it before, but I will gladly repeat myself: I am not blind.” Legolas grinned. “You mean a lot to him, and I know you feel the same way about him. You cannot move past it as if it had only been a minor occurrence.”

“How do you eve–”

“I am you son. Get your horse and ride after him. I want you to be happy, for I haven’t seen you happy in quite a long time. If you are happy with a man, I am happy, too. But if you do not ride after Lord Elrond now, you will regret it for as long as you live.” Legolas paused. “And as far as I know, Elves live for a long time.”

“Thank you.”

Thranduil didn’t wait for his son, but immediately departed for the stables where he led his white mare out into the forest. He missed his stag dearly, but was quite content with his horse too, who let him climb onto her back without him needing any gear.

“Noro lim,” he whispered into the mare’s ear. “Noro lim.”

She reacted instantly and sped away into the forest, her hooves banging loudly against the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is the last chapter before the epilogue, but I do have a sequel planned. I do not know when I will start uploading the second part, simply because I need to find the time to write it in-between note-taking for university and taking care of both my arms for tendinitis, which does not really make typing any easier. I hope you’re as excited for the end as I am, and remember: it isn’t the end, the story continues, I just need maybe two to three months so I can write some chapters in advance. The epilogue will be uploaded on Thursday, until then, take care! xx


	27. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end.

The wind felt like whiplashes on Thranduil’s face, and he kept his eyes closed to protect them from the cold air. His mare, her name was Vaile, was galloping incessantly beneath him, breathing heavily as she occasionally jumped over obstacles that were lying in her way. 

Thranduil barely noticed the remnants of his injuries, for his whole body had gone numb. He was smiling though as he recalled the words Legolas had said to him just before he had left in a hurry. The Elven-King hadn’t shown it to his son, or said it, but he was eternally grateful for his son’s support. If Legolas had not uttered those words, Thranduil would not have been on his way after Elrond. 

He leaned over Vaile’s neck and repeated the words he had spoken to her over and over again.

“Noro lim.”

The mare galloped ahead, her hooves barely touched the ground as she seemed to fly, as if she was aware of the urgency of the situation. Thranduil could feel how her muscles strained to run faster, and the Elven-King knew that his horse still had a lot of strength left before she reached her limits, for she had run faster on longer ways before. 

The pair had finally left the forest behind and were now on a vast grassland that was only occasionally interrupted by some mediocre rocks. Vaile sprinted on, across the meadow, and Thranduil barely needed to guide her, as if she could read his mind and detect precisely where he meant to go. 

The Elven-King could only hope that he would be able to catch onto the Half-Elven, let alone find him as he hoped he had taken the same path as Elrond. Hope was all he had left now. 

He urged Vaile to stop abruptly as he spotted a very familiar figure ahead of him who was riding on a black horse far ahead of him. Elrond’s horse was hardly trotting, so catching up to him would not be very difficult. 

However, Thranduil started to doubt his decision – would the Half-Elven even want to see him? They hadn’t exactly parted on very positive terms – what if Elrond had decided to continue on without ever having to interfere with Thranduil ever again?

The Elven-King shook his head. He needed closure, which is why he gave Vaile a light kick so she would proceed in a slow gallop. His hand was resting on her neck and he felt every single movement beneath his fingers. 

Instead of directly following the Half-Elven, he guided Vaile to the right, around one of the rocks and urged her to go faster, faster, until her speed had increased tremendously, until she ran as fast as she had never done before. No doubt that Elrond would have heard them by now, but he still looked surprised as Thranduil appeared right in front of him as Vaile skidded to a halt. 

Thranduil didn’t know, couldn’t know, what Thranduil was feeling that moment, but he felt his own heart race in his chest. 

“What are you doing here?” Elrond asked after they had both been uncomfortably silent for a while.

“I wanted to see you again,” Thranduil said curtly. The words sounded stiff, as if he were being choked with a thin string.

“Why?” Elrond didn’t seem to feel any different than him, for his face was ghostly pale.

“Because I have fallen in love with you.” Thranduil felt the lump in his throat tighten. 

For a split second, Elrond seemed to be at a loss for words. But then he jumped off his horse’s back and distanced himself from Thranduil and both animals.

“We have been through this, Thranduil,” Elrond sighed, sounding exasperated. “That is the exact reason why I left.” 

He sounded so incredibly sad.

“I know I hurt you,” Thranduil began, not quite ready to let him go. “I have hurt myself too, because I couldn’t deal with it. But I am in love with you, and if you tell me here and now that you do not love me back, I will climb back on my horse and promise you that you shall never have to see me again.”

Elrond opened his mouth to speak, but no words escaped him. Thranduil didn’t feel comfortable in his own skin, for he was ashamed of the fact that he was pressuring the Half-Elven in a way he shouldn’t. He wanted to apologise, but Elrond cut him off before he could say anything.

“I love you,” Elrond said. “But I cannot hide whatever it is between you and me.”

The Elven-King was deeply ashamed of himself.

“I am sorry,” he said after a while of consideration. “I wish I hadn’t behaved the way I have. Even if our love is hopeless and has no future, can’t it be real anyway? I wish it could be the way I had imagined it to be. Because I love you, and I regret hurting you. And if you want me to leave, I will leave, and I will respect your wishes.”

Elrond seemed to be fighting on the inside, for he kept walking back and forth, deep in thought. When he didn’t respond after some time, Thranduil took it as his cue to leave and to let go. He turned around and walked back to Vaile and had almost climbed onto her back again when he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to turn around. 

As he did, he saw Elrond’s face merely centimeters away from his until the space between them had vanished completely as they kissed passionately, a soft moan escaping Thranduil, his arms flung protectively around the Half-Elven’s body. 

When they broke apart, Thranduil saw with delight that Elrond was smiling. 

“If you ever leave your bed again in that state of yours when you should clearly be resting, I will tie you to your bed,” Elrond warned.

“Is that a threat?”

“See it more as a promise.”

They both got onto their horses. 

“It is my duty as healer to escort you back. I might even stay for a few more days or weeks until you are fully healed. I will make sure of that myself.”

Thranduil smiled and they both broke into laughter as they rode their horses side by side, hands gently touching in the wind. They would find a solution in order to be together – Mirkwood could be a shared kingdom, ruled by both, while they also cared for Imladris. But that was not to be discussed now. For now, they were happy. 

Little did they know that their happiness would not last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys! This part is over, but the story continues! I appreciate all the kudos I received, all the comments that were all incredibly encouraging, all the support truly meant a lot and I love you for that.   
> I have a clear idea of what the second part is going to be about – let me just say that there will be some revenge in it, a lot of hurt, angst, but also fluff and comfort. The title will be 'Shared Destiny', but I will not yet tell you who it relates to ;)   
> Anyway, I hope to be able to start writing it soon – uni is taking up a lot of my time, and typing often hurts because of my tendinitis, but I will try to continue the saga as soon as I possibly can.   
> Until then, take care xx


End file.
